When the Night Comes
by savingprivatewriter
Summary: AU; From the age of 18, Katniss Everdeen has provided for her family the only way she knows how-by selling her body.
1. Chapter 1

"_I feel her filth in my bones, _

_Wash off my hands till it's gone._

_The walls there closing in, _

_Velvet curtains."- The Lumineers_

Chapter 1

I stumble from the room, forcing my limbs to carry me down the long winding hallway, a path I'd taken so many times before it was becoming instinct. It was the path I always took in my nightmares before the monsters on the other side of the door captured me within their iron grips, holding me hostage until I woke screaming in a cold sweat the next morning.

But even awake the monsters on the other side of the door beckoned for me. These monsters had faces though. Their breath smelled of the strongest alcohol that made shiver as their frail boney hands ran over my body. And the monsters didn't let go when I asked them too. They just held on tighter.

I hate the monsters but not nearly as much as I hate myself.

The bellhop standing in the front of the motel looks at me with sad eyes as I rush out of the warm heat the motel was providing and into the frigid December air.

_He knows._

I pull my jacket closer to my body, somehow feeling more protected by the shield my cliché trench coat supplies and how easily I'm able to slip in the shadows the night. I chance a glance back, relieved the worker seems to have found something to occupy his time with. I don't need eyes watching me as I make my escape.

My hands shake on the steering wheel, my nerves not yet calmed from my night's work. When did things get like this? I sit for a moment, letting tears roll from my eyes in the few moments I have alone. I stare up at myself in the rearview mirror for a moment, cringing at the reflection of the women who stares back at me with hollow cheeks and vacant eyes.

I don't recognize her.

I roll through the town on my way home, the lights from the bars glistening on the paved roadways. The town is still alive, even at this late hour. This fact will let my lie come out easier, I realize. He'll believe me. The thought is introduced with a new round of nausea and I fight the urge to release the contents of my stomach onto the floorboard of my old Honda.

_You're almost home, _I chant.

I wouldn't call my apartment on the corner of 8th and Willowbrooke "home". In fact it's the opposite. The apartment is bare and doesn't appear to be lived in. I've been here for five years and I haven't done anything to the place. I haven't even had the urge to hang pictures of my family or place pots of seasonal flowers in every corner of the room like most twenty-four year old women would.

I'm fine with it the way it is. My apartment seemed to be the one thing in my life I was okay with.

I head to the bathroom immediately upon arrival, not paying any attention to the snoring coming from my bedroom or the trickling from the sink that I must've left on when I left all those hours ago. The only thing that mattered in those moments was riding my skin of whatever was still on it.

I sit in a white cotton robe in front of my dirt stained mirror, cracks deforming my reflection as I wait patiently for the bathroom to fog. I've learned that's the only way I'm able to take showers these days; when I'm absolutely positive I'm hidden and no one can see my body. My purple, bruised stained body.

My reflection in the mirror accurately reflects the way I feel—like a monster. My eyes are hollow, the dark circles underneath making me resemble a women years older than I really am. My hair is knotted, my cheeks stained with a red blush, and my lips broken and chapped, tasting of spirits I hadn't been the one drinking. I touch my face. I'm not beautiful like those men say I am. I'm broken.

I remove the robe then, shuddering as I admire the blue and purple marks covering my olive skin. They'll be gone in a few days though by the time their gone they'll be replaced by new ones.

I step into the shower after a while, moaning in earnest as the scalding hot water cleanses my naked skin. The cheap soap I purchase manages to mask the smell of cigarettes but does little to rid me of my self-loathing. That may not be something I'll ever be able to rid myself of. I'll just learn to accept it like the others.

Johanna tells me I shouldn't be so hard on myself—that I should just try to forget. "You shouldn't blame yourself," she says. But then who is there to blame?

I scrub my skin, not stopping the assault on my own body until I see a few trickles of blood. Satisfied, I rinse off, wrapping a towel around my naked body. I don't bother slipping into anything extravagant, just an old discarded t-shirt I find in my door way that smells of my perfume.

I stick my ear to the door then, checking for the snoring that was deafened by the roar of the shower. It's still there.

Peeta Mellark sleeps soundly in my bed, his mouth open and hair tousled, looking godly even in his sleep. He hasn't moved since I left him all those hours ago; he probably doesn't even know I've left.

Peeta has no idea of the things I've done. He has no idea what secrets lye with him in the plush bed I didn't purchase for myself. Looking at him now, I hope he never finds out.

The night when I sleep in an empty bed again will truly be the end of everything good I've ever had.

What he doesn't know won't hurt him, I remind myself, crawling beneath the covers, trying not to wake him. I snuggle next to his warm body, relishing in the feeling of true intimacy and comfort—a feeling only Peeta gives me.

We've been doing this for a little over a year now. I don't necessarily know what we are. We've never spoken about it but the conversation hangs over our heads everywhere we go.

Peeta would like to call me his girlfriend. He's never said the words directly to me but he speaks in his sleep and when he speaks in his sleep, he whispers nothing but words of love. It makes my heart hurt to hear what he mumbles; to hear what he truly feels but what he's afraid to say to my face.

But we are a couple as far as I'm concerned, label or not. I let him into my bed night after night and he does the same. He holds me when the nightmares of monsters overtake me and whispers sweet words into my ear until my breathing has returned to normal.

Tears sting my eyes then. I will never deserve him.

"What's wrong?" Peetas voice startles me, causing me to release a yelp in surprise and go ridged within his arms which incase me. "Whoa, there."

I turn in his arms until I'm facing him, his breath flowing over my face as he bends to kiss my nose. His lips are warm and inviting and I long to lose myself in them. But my body is weak and I know I cannot give myself to anyone else tonight—even if I am giving myself to the person who deserves it.

"I thought you were asleep," I whisper, wrapping my arms around his broad chest, my eyes falling closed in the comfort of his arms. I inhale deeply, relishing in the smell of his manly body wash and the smell of cinnamon he's never able to rid himself of from working all those hours in the bakery.

"I was but you were starting to move. I was worried you were having a nightmare," his voice is low but worry laces through his words. He knows my nightmares only come when something is troubling me which has been quite often lately.

I lace my fingers through his—an action which I mean to be calming but I'm unable to stop the shaking. "Katniss, what's happening," he questions sternly, squeezing our interlocked hands together and toying with a lock of my damp hair with his other. I don't answer because speaking may cause me to lose my composure and that is something I cannot do. Not here, in front of Peetas' watchful eyes.

"Just been a long day," I whisper numbly, knowing it will hold him over until I can pull myself together enough to produce a believable lie. He nods and I know the conversation is over for now.

We lay in silence for a while, simply basking in each other's warmth. Occasionally he kisses my hair lovingly and I'll bring our intertwined hands to my lips, placing lingering kisses on each of his fingers and then repeating the process. I've never told him directly how I've felt about him but in moments like this, I know he knows.

I don't know how long we lay there but it must be hours because before I know it, the sun is creeping through my curtains, making patterns on Peeta's bare chest. I trace them with my index finger, listening to the sound of Peeta's once steady heartbeat increase under my ministrations. I smile.

"Are you hungry," he asks after a while, placing a hand atop my stomach which is making embarrassingly loud noises.

"Yes but I don't want to move," I mumble against his chest, combing my fingers through his soft curls. He purrs, leaning into my touch and allowing his lips to search for mine.

The kiss is sweet, nothing like the kisses we share in a fit of passion that are fueled with fire. This kiss is light, his lips molding around my own like a puzzle piece. I know in this moment that there is nowhere else I belong; no one else whom I'll ever belong too. Nothing in my life has ever been perfect but being with Peeta in this moment is nearly perfect. It makes all my past troubles seem like a pebble in the sand—something so unimportant in comparison to how beautiful what's in front of me truly is.

I love this man and there is no reason to deny myself of that any longer but there is also nothing that scares me more.

Just as the words begin to spew from my mouth, the ringing of my phone on the bedside table interrupts us. I close my eyes tightly, suddenly longing to be anywhere but wrapped in his arms. He feels my body tense within his grip as I untangle our limbs and rush to aid my phone.

"Just leave it! Come back to bed," he calls after me. I pretend I don't hear him.

I whisper my apology, watching the look of confusion and hurt lace his features as I rush from the room, placing the phone to my ear, trying to ignore the blue eyes on my back as I make my exit.

I know who's calling without having to look. It's the only person who calls me besides Peeta and I know what he wants.

"Hello?" I ask, unable to keep the disdain out of my voice as I do so.

"Katniss," the voice doesn't belong to who I thought but Johanna, my partner in crime—literally. "I'm sorry to bother you so early but my car broke down and I didn't know who else to call and-"

"I'm on my way," I interrupt, already searching for my discarded shoes. After getting quick instructions from Johanna, my eyes roam over the apartment for my keys which were constantly being misplaced. Peeta always jokes, saying it's a sign I shouldn't be allowed to drive. Hell, maybe it was.

"Where are you going?" I pause as I reach inside my purse, glancing over my shoulder at a half-naked Peeta. His scowl was undeniable and for the first time I saw something I rare in Peetas expression—anger.

"Johannas car broke down. She asked me to go get her." At least that wasn't a lie when it seemed everything else in this relationship was—at least on my part.

"And she can't call anyone else? It's 5 in the morning," he says.

"She's my best friend," I tell him, on the verge of tears. I hide my eyes the best I can, using my hair as a curtain as I move around him. _Now what was I looking for?_

"Here," he says simply, handing over the jumble of keys I have on my key chain. There goes Peeta again, knowing what I need before _I _even know I need them.

"Thank you," I whisper, grabbing them before he has a chance to say anything else. "You don't have to leave. I'll be back in-"

"Just go, Katniss."

He says the words without hesitation, his muscled back turned to me as he wanders back into my bedroom, slamming the door with the slightest bit of extra force. I groan.

Before my mind convinces me to stay, I shuffle out of the door, leaving Peeta angry within the walls of my apartment. I know he'll erase all traces of anger by the time I return home and smile in my face as I walk through the door. But a voice in the back of my mind reminds that he might just get sick of my running and he might do the same.

I may be coming home to an empty apartment.

_You're helping a friend, Katniss. You're doing something good for a change. _

The drive to 2nd is a short one but in the early morning downtown traffic, it takes me a good fifteen minutes to find my bold, dark headed friend. She's sitting in the lobby of the W, smoking a cigarette I'm sure she's not supposed too. The women working the front desk looks at her with a deep scowl but says nothing to her, simply dividing her attention between the computer screen she's working on and Johanna who is keeping an equal watchful eye on her.

I smirk. Johanna notices me then, and before sending a wink towards the disgruntled worker, carries herself out into the cold and then into the comfort of my warm car. "Took you long enough," she says, her tone light and joking.

"Do you mind not smoking in my car," I ask half-heartedly. "Peeta hates the smell."

Johanna simply smirks, blowing the smoke she was storing in her lungs in my direction. I shake my head, a smile playing on my lips before I push it away. "What's eating you," Johanna asks, her dark eyes flickering over to mine.

Johanna knows me better than anyone and lying to her would do me no good so I stay silent. She doesn't press. This is exactly how our relationship has been able to strive over the last few years. She usually does the talking and I listen.

"How was it tonight," I ask, biting the inside of my cheek. We rarely spoke about work but I felt the need to ask, the bruise forming on her collarbone noticeable to my eyes.

"Okay," she says. "I made some good money tonight, Kitty Kat."

The car rolls to a stop a few minutes later in front of Johannas small home on the eastside of town. In the distance I can see Ripper, the local drug dealer who makes her living off of selling cheap drugs to the poor and expensive ones to all the politicians' kids. She can't be much older than Johanna and I though working on the street has aged her deeply just like working in men's bed have aged us.

"You think she'll ever get an actual job," Johanna asks as if reading my mind.

I shrug. The real question is, will we?

"Thanks, Katniss. I owe you one," she whispers slipping out of the car. "Call me later?"

I say something though I'm not sure what, and I watch as Johanna scurries off into the shadows of her home. I wait until I'm sure she's safely inside before pulling forward.

Rippers eyes watch me as I ride by, nodding to me as I do so. I raise my hand in greeting, not giving her so much as a smile but as an acknowledgement. Ripper and I have a silent promise between the two of us. We've never done more than spoken two words to each other but somehow, she has my back on these streets just as I have hers. We're just as much of a team as Johanna and I are, the only difference being Ripper is able to supply with some good weed.

I race out of Johannas neighborhood, ignoring all the speed limit signs as I zoom past the town, wanting to just be home-to just be with Peeta. I make it there in record time and my heart flutters when I focus my attention on the red mustang sitting in the same place I'd left it.

I skip the stairs, two at a time and by the time I've raised my hand to knock on the door, it's already open, Peetas freshly washed body beckoning me.

I waste no time before throwing my arms around his neck, my lips seeking his as if it's the last thing I'll ever do. Hell—it sure does feel that way.

Peeta meets me with just as enthusiastic kisses-whatever anger he had before has been evaporated into the lust filled air around us. His mouth is warm and inviting, his lips just as sweet as they had been when I left him in my bed.

He wastes no time sticking his tongue into my mouth and I let him, relieved to be in the arms of the man I love. The man I truly want.

"What's up with you," Peeta mumbles, his mouth trailing down the hollow of my throat. He sucks greedily and I know he's trying to leave a mark. It's his way of calling me mine without actually having to do so. This is the thing about not having labels.

Peeta's hands grip greedily at the skin being exposed; his nails raking over my skin in a comforting way.

"I just need this," I gasp, moaning at the soft bite I get at the confession. "I need you."

I shrug off the coat I'm wearing with some assistance, not wasting a moment before I discard the thermal I was wearing underneath. I'm left in nothing but my bra and jeans while Peeta stands before me, making quick work of his belt before kicking his jeans to the side. His upper half is already exposed and I waste no time licking a trail along his collar bone.

He moans then, igniting something in me that had been burned out long ago. His member is pressing into my stomach, begging for attention as I grind against him. He doesn't need any extra coaxing as he falls back softly against my old couch, shifting my body over his until my hair falls around us like a curtain.

My pants were discarded long ago though I'm not sure where but within seconds, Peeta is filling me to the brim and I moan. This is right. This is the way things should be.

Peeta and I long ago decided to go away with condoms, a big step for both me and him. I only ever had sex with condoms as had he. By agreeing to do this, we both took down a wall. Ridding the barrier meant more than just having "safe" sex. It means we were beginning to _trust_ each other.

In moments like these I feel I could be connected to Peeta for as long as I live. He rocks in me slowly and though this wasn't always the hottest sex, it was the most meaningful. Neither one of us were climbing for the finish soon, we weren't nearly just fucking. We were making love. We were relishing in the feeling of two people becoming one and as his fingers bring me to a finish I cry out, the words I've meaning to say nearly spilling over in a fit of passion.

I keep them in though, knowing nothing but bad things will come of actually saying the words. Instead I claw at his back, throwing my head back and screaming his name as the tension inside me builds up. "Peeta…" I whimper, holding onto his head as he rocks steadily inside me, groaning my name.

"Katniss… I'm gonna…" He groans, his eyes falling closed.

"Go," I encourage. "Just let go, Peeta."

And he does. Peeta groans, chanting my name like a prayer as he spills into me, driving his hips up one more time. I hold him as he whimpers in the aftershocks, rocking him in my arms and whispering words of love into his ear until he regains his focus.

"Wow," he mumbles after a while, placing soft kisses on my covered chest. "What did I do to deserve that?"

I don't answer. _What did I do to deserve that?_

"Are you going to pull out," I question jokingly.

"Do I have too?" He jokes though he pulls out then, his hands stroking my exposed middle. I moan though I know there is no possible way I could give him any more.

"You're too good to me," I whisper, grabbing his discarded t-shirt and throwing it over my body, not wanting to be completely exposed for too long.

"And you look way to good in my old t-shirts," he mumbles, his lips trailing up my neck again.

"I don't think you're getting this one back, Mr. Mellark. It's easily becoming my favorite." That isn't a lie. The red Mellark Bakery shirt that I now claim as mine has always been one of my favorites. He wears it at the bakery and it always smells like him. Like cinnamon and sugar and the berries he uses. It's just another thing that's going in the trash when Peeta finds out who I really am.

The thought suddenly brings me out of my post-orgasmic bliss and into reality.

Peeta must have noticed my change in mood because almost immediately, he has me swept up in his strong arms. I can't help but smile as I cling to his neck, laughing as I fall onto the plush bed with a thump. "Is Johanna okay?" He asks, crawling under the cover and wrapping his arms around my middle. I sigh, not knowing how I can ever live without this. "I should've gone with you. I don't know what I was thinking letting you-"

"It's okay, Peeta," I say, kissing his knuckles. "You're here now."

"Katniss…" Peeta starts, his voice trailing.

"Yeah?"

"I really like you."

He doesn't need to say anything else. I know exactly what he means because I'm feeling the same way now. Wrapped in his arms, I know this is where I could lay forever.

Forever only last a handful of moments though because Peeta—like most working adults—has work to attend too at the bakery he owns on Fifth Street. It's a short walk from my apartment, maybe fifteen minutes if you walk briskly. I've thought many times of asking Peeta to move in—for the sake of saving gas and just walking to work. But I always talk myself out of it. One way or another, Peeta and I having separate places just seems more logical.

Peeta's animated as he talks about new pastries he's trying at the bakery this week, his facial expressions comical as he speaks about all the different supplies. His passion about his work excites me and I wish I could feel the same.

Peeta grew up in a bakery, his parents owning one in Virginia where he's from. After going to college, he decided he didn't want to be an accountant or lawyer or teacher. He wanted to be a baker just as his parents had when he was growing up. He moved to the big city and struggled for a few years but just recently, his bakery has gotten tons of business and has even been covered by the local paper, naming Peeta "The Best Baker in The East Coast". I'll never forget the smile on his face when he came over that night or the way he brought me to a finish five times before finishing himself.

I was proud of him in ways I couldn't put into words and I wish I had better way of showing him—telling him this. But like I've said many times before, I'm no good with words.

"Katniss," he says, pulling me back to focus. "Where'd you go?"

"I was just thinking about how proud I am of you," I say honestly. The smile on his face is the most heartbreaking thing and I can't help but return the smile under his gaze.

"You're just trying to get yourself laid," he jokes, kissing my cheek before pulling me into a hug. I stay there, wrapped in his arms for a long time before he finally pulls away, tugging on my braided hair. "I'll call you tonight after I get off. Maybe we can go catch that Hunger Games movie or whatever."

"Sounds good," I reply, truly not knowing what tonight will bring me in terms of work. I make no promises.

He leaves in a rush then, scrambling out of the door and sending me one last wave when he makes it to his car before riding off into the sunset like the prince he is. I can't keep the smile off of my face as I reenter my now, very lonely apartment.

I think of calling Haymitch, asking him if he needs any help today—anything to get my mind off of Peeta. But I decide against it, not in the mood for his drunken interrogation and backhanded compliments.

I next think of calling my mother but decide against the headache, knowing the only thing that will come of that is the inevitable fighting that always occurs when my mother and I are speaking.

Thinking of my mother makes my stomach hurt. The relationship has always been complicated in ways no one can truly understand. My father died when I was fourteen in a car accident. My mother was in the car but managed to make it out unharmed. She spent the rest of my teenage years with survivors guilt, always wishing it was her who had died that night and not my father—my kind, gentle father who reminded me so much of Peeta. The way she acted weeks after the accident sometimes made me wish she too had been the one to take the fatal blow that night. I would never express those feelings out loud though because she wasn't.

She was here with us and I couldn't spend my whole life wishing she had been the one who died when it was my father instead.

After years of therapy, I suppose she finally got over her survivors guilt and decided to start being a real mother though by that time, it was already too late. I was putting myself through college, making sure Prim—my younger sister—had everything she wanted even from a far.

My mother never questioned where the money was coming from and part of me feels that she knew. She knew what I was doing to keep my family fed. She knew it was the thing any women would've done.

Maybe this is where the resentment comes from. Maybe it comes from my mother allowing me to sell my body to do her job.

I've never told Peeta about my family. He knows my dad is dead, my mother has her issues, and Prim is fifteen. He knows I send them money though he is oblivious to where the money comes from.

He just doesn't ask.

I realize the only thing I've done since Peeta left is accomplished the task of thoroughly depressing myself—but I've always been good at that.

I think of Gale next, my childhood friend whom I never spoke to again after graduation. He lives in the area; my mother's told me that in one of our tense conversations. He has a wife now, a woman named Madge according to Facebook and by the looks of things she's pregnant. I smile; glad someone from home has actually made a good life for themselves. I've been meaning to call, to just say hello and that I hope everything is well.

Things won't be strange now that he's married and I'm _involved._ Maybe it'll be like old times—but then again maybe it won't.

The reason Gale and I stopped talking is a complicated one. I don't speak about Gale to anyone, mostly because us not talking seems to be the strangest thing being that we were so close as kids. But truly only Gale and I know the truth about the demise of our once strong relationship and neither of us wishes to relive it.

I realize now why I never have any desire to go home for the holidays like Peeta does. There is no one at home whom I wish to see. There's nothing in that small, Arkansas town for me anymore and I would never wish to go back for that reason.

But I'm no different than the people left back there. They may all be married with three kids by now, or coke addicts, or alcoholics—but hell, at least their living their lives the way they chose too.

I can't say the same for me.

Just then my phone rings, in hopes it's Peeta I rush to get it.

It's not Peeta and suddenly my head hurts.

"Hello?"

"Ms. Everdeen, you should really pick up the phone the first time I call." My stomach sinks.

"I apologize I wasn't near the phone," I say, trying my best to keep the terror out of my voice. I'm unsuccessful.

"You have a job tonight, a house call on Rio," Snow tells me. "Dress nicely, Ms. Everdeen."

The phone line goes dead then and I fall to my knees.

* * *

I'm new to the site and hope you enjoy the progression of this story. Three chapters have already been written and I am very excited about the tone of this FanFiction!

Please feel free to review.

PM with any personal questions, suggestions, stories, anything!

thank you.

The song in the beginning is a beautiful song by the Lumineers called "Slow it Down"

The song on which this story is based off of is "When the Night Comes" by Dan Auerbach


	2. Chapter 2

_"You're so very special,_

_I wish I was special."_

* * *

Chapter 2

I don't think as I move through the crowds of people on Main Street, my arms crossed over my chest protectively as I'm pushed around in the midst of busy working people trying to make their way to their cliché nine to five jobs.

I don't remember how I got here, truthfully.

After the call from Snow, I hurriedly dressed in whatever I could find, wanting desperately to escape the confinement of my apartment and be out in the open air.

Honestly, I wanted the woods. I wanted to be in the comfort of the clean smog free air, basking in the sunlight as the trees protected me from sight. I wanted to feel the soft foliage under my feet as I treaded lightly with a bow in my arms, planning to shot down the first animal I saw. I wanted to wait until the sun went down in a patch of wildflowers and admire the starry sky and all its glory. I wanted to be able to actually see the stars—not just dream of them.

I loved the city for all its opportunities but more times than not I missed the country for it simplicities.

It's a beautiful day—one that reminds me of home. The sun is high in the sky though the air is cold; the leaves are just beginning to fall from their branches and gracing the streets with their flourishing colors. Christmas is fast approaching and the lights have been hung on the planted trees that line the streets and rung around the light poles just as they are every year.

Ironic enough as it is, when I'm at my lowest the world seems to be filled with things to be happy about.

I sit on a park bench then, realizing I've probably walked about ten miles. Usually this wouldn't be a problem but my latest jobs have left me worn and my body has a harder time functioning normally. My morning routine was usually complete with a quick five-mile run in the park but as of yesterday I found I could barely do three.

Johanna's convinced the stress is getting to me—I'm starting to believe her.

Johanna has been an employee of Snows much longer than I have. In fact, she was the one who got me the job. She found me one night on the corner, back in my freshman year of college, struggling to pay my tuition and have enough spare change for books and clothes and food. I didn't make much back then—none like the money I make now. She brought me to Snow that night and from that day forward, I had an apartment in my name, designer clothes on my back, the richest foods to eat, and a little extra money at the end of the night.

I felt I owed Johanna something for making all these wonderful things happen to me, though when I told her this I couldn't dismiss the feeling of guilt that hung in the air as she took my hand. When I tried to thank her—show her the upmost gratitude—she always pushed it back, telling me she was not the one to thank for anything.

At the time I believed she was just being selfless, humble. Though now, I understand. There was nothing to thank her for.

It took me only a month and a handful of customers to discover why she never wanted to speak about work and why she never wanted to take credit for introducing me to this life. This life we were involved in was horrible and how I would ever return to normal when my days of being young and beautiful ended, I didn't know.

Johanna handles it better than I do. She long ago got passed the feeling of self-loathing and chose to push all feelings she had back. She called off the engagement to her once fiancée who remains nameless, changed the color of her hair, and got a tattoo. "I was reborn that night," she always tells me.

She recommends I do the same though leaving Peeta is something I could never imagine. Peeta leaving _me_ has always been the plan. Nothing Peeta could ever do would make me want to leave him; I'd have no justifiable cause being everything I've done is ten times worse.

"Katniss? Katniss Everdeen?" Hearing my name being called breaks me of my trance and when I raise my eyes, I'm greeted by warm green ones.

I don't recognize the women by name at first though I realize I've interacted with her before. Her hair is red, subtle and pulled back into a low pony tail at the nape of her neck which is held together by a green elastic matching the color of her eyes. She's small, no taller than me and maybe even has less meat on her bones than I. In her large rain resistant jacket, she appears to be shrinking. "Yes?" I ask then, realizing I've been staring at the women for a while, while she anxiously awaits my answer. My voice sounds exasperated and for a moment it looks like I have offended her. She quickly pulls herself together, shifting from one foot to the next as she rambles.

"You probably don't remember me…" Panic rushes through me then, fearing that she's someone from home which she very well could be. My teenage years were spent heavily medicated by whatever drugs I could find and it wouldn't be completely surprising if I forgot a few names and faces here and there. "I'm Annie," she tells me, extending her hand in greeting. I notice the sparkly, diamond encrusted engagement ring as she does so. The name doesn't ring a bell and she doesn't give me a last name or any type of introduction as to how she knows me.

I laugh, trying to ease some of the building tension though it comes out forced and not genuine. I decide in this very moment I will just never be good at easing tension or making friends, though I've known that for a long time. "I'm sorry, Annie. I've been in such a fog all morning," I explain, running and hand through my hair and now wishing I had given my appearance a little more thought as I stepped out.

She shakes her head then, bringing her hand up to give herself an over exaggerated thump on the forehead. "Of course, I'm sorry. I've been running around all morning trying to get everything done for the wedding…" I let her speak, not interrupting her as she tells me about her trip the florist and her dress fitting and how her mother just doesn't know the importance of wearing the correct shade of red. I get the feeling that at this moment she just needs to speak, even if I don't know exactly who she is or how she knows me. I let her, her problems momentarily distracting me from my own. I pray for the day when my biggest worry is the flowers that I want for my wedding not being in season.

"Am I boring you? I know all this bridal talk can be a little much at times. I'm sure all my bridesmaids are tired of hearing it," she explains.

"Of course not," I say. "I understand how stressful those things can be sometimes."

"_Thank you," _her tone gives me the impression that she's been waiting awhile to hear someone say this. "Finnick just doesn't understand. I swear, sometimes it's like he is miles away."

It all clicks then.

Finnick and Peeta have been best friends since high school and they both decided to move to the city together after college. They were roommates up until last year when Finnick moved out to live with his girlfriend. His girlfriend whose name is Annie Cresta and is apparently, now going to be his wife.

Back in the early stages of Peeta and me, we went on a double date with the two to see some cheesy movie and have a dinner in some diner Peeta and Finnick love. Annie didn't speak much but neither did I. Finnick and Peeta did all the talking and joking but the night was a nice one and ended with Peetas head between my legs. I blush at the memory.

Thinking back, Peeta may have said something about it but I don't recall the conversation exactly. It's been at least three months since I have last seen Finnick and in the few conversations we've had I have never even thought to ask about Annie again. I feel guilty then.

"You're coming to the wedding, right?" She asks then, placing a hand on my elbow and squeezing.

"I haven't received an invitation," I say half-heartedly, not truly caring but being slightly offended Finnick didn't think to offer up an invite though neither did Peeta.

"Oh," she says, her eyes going wide under my stare. "I just assumed you would be Peetas plus one being he is the best man. Are you two still-"

"Dating, yes," I interrupt, my mind suddenly filled with so many thoughts, I'm unable to filter them all. "Peeta actually hasn't mentioned the wedding at all," I tell her honestly.

A look of confusion now passes over Annie's beautiful face as well. She opens her mouth to say something several times but closes it, looking similar to a fish out of water. After some time, she offers simple shrug. "Maybe he was just waiting to tell you."

It's my turn to shrug though I fear he wasn't planning on telling me at all. Maybe he's just as embarrassed of me as I am of myself.

"I really wouldn't worry, Katniss. Peeta's a good guy and I don't think he would do anything with bad intentions," she offers. "Maybe he just forgot."

"Forgot to tell me he was the best man in his best friend's wedding, sure," I say then, not at all worried about offending Annie with my annoyed tone. I cross my arms then, feeling defensive and apprehensive under her sad stare. "I have to get going, Annie."

"Of course, it is getting kind of late," she replies, letting her hold on my elbow go. I turn to leave then, not in the mood for any more small talk or apologies or whatever else she's about to offer up. She calls my name though just as I'm making my escape and I couldn't possibly ignore her now.

I turn slowly, raising my eyebrows in question, fearing my voice will betray me I if I try to speak. "You're more than invited, you know that, right?" She says it loud enough to earn a few glances from strangers and I feel my cheeks burn.

I nod. "Yeah, Annie thanks!" Her smile is bright and she waves as I turn to leave. I don't return it.

Instead I walk home, pondering the relationship between Peeta and myself the entire ten miles.

I wasn't his girlfriend so I suppose maybe I shouldn't have been expecting him to invite me. I had no right to be upset with him. _I had_ told Annie we were dating but that was just to avoid questions. Defining the relationship between Peeta and I was hard enough as is; explaining it to someone else would be a nightmare.

I began to wonder if whatever happening between us was merely sex but the things he says and things he does makes me feel as if it's so much more than that. But maybe Peeta Mellark was just a nice guy who treated every girl he slept with that way; maybe I was lead to only_ believe_ I was special.

Of course I wasn't special. When has Katniss Everdeen ever been special?

* * *

I'd forgotten all about Peeta's promise of a date and when he knocks on the door of my apartment at eight, I'm surprised to see him standing there, flowers in hand and a worried smile on his face. He's dressed nicely, something I rarely see being he wakes at the crack of dawn to go to work and returns to my apartment after—dressed in his usual bakery t-shirt, with flour stained hair.

Though now it's obvious he took a little extra time to groom himself. He's showered, the smell of all things Peeta _not_ hitting me like a brick as I stand so close to him. He smells of after shave and the littlest bit of cologne. He's in jeans—the jeans I l_ove_. The ones that mold around his tone legs so nicely I want to melt. His shirt is casual though on him it looks like it's fresh off of the runway.

With Peeta Mellark standing in my door, looking drop dead gorgeous, I forget why I was so mad at him in the first place. The flowers remind me.

"What are you so guilty for," I ask, allowing my body to sag against the door frame as I wait for his answer before inviting him in. I have no intentions of _not_ inviting him in but for now, I want him to know I'm angry though angry isn't the word. Hurt would be more fitting.

"How do you know I'm guilty?" He jokes, half-heartedly. His voice is light though beneath it I can hear the bit of worry.

"Only guilty men bring flowers, have you never heard that?" My mother taught me that one though I repress the thought.

"Annie called me after she ran into you this morning," he admits. His voice is even and as he places the flowers in my hands, his fingers make their way to his blonde curls. I always know something is truly bothering Peeta when he begins toying with his hair—the most annoying nervous habit.

"Oh, did she?" I knew she would. Any women would.

Peeta is silent, locking eyes with me in a silent battle of who will be the first to break. It's always him and this time is no different. The words come out in a rush then, as if the dam is broken. He wastes no time in explaining to me he had every intention of inviting me but every time he wanted to ask me the timing seemed weird and he didn't know if I would even want to go. "You hate weddings and I know that and I didn't want you to feel compelled to go but please believe me when I say I really want you there. In fact, I'm sure the whole thing is going to be a complete bust if you're not there. The wedding is still months away so I had time to ask you and I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier this was happening but they haven't been engaged for, I don't know, a month maybe. He just asked me to be the best man like, last week so that is fairly new as well and-"

I exhale as he rambles on, instantly comforted by the words and the sincerity in his eyes as he tells the story. I feel stupid then, knowing my doubts about our relationship were only stemming from my own personal insecurities. Insecurities that had nothing to do with the man standing before me and everything to do with my life before I even knew him.

I silence him with a kiss then, knowing it's the only way to calm Peeta down when he's wound up. He doesn't respond to it at first, though after a while his lips mold around mine and we continue wrestling against each other, something we've become good at.

I don't know if it's hours, or minutes, or days later but before I know it, we're interrupted by the quiet hissing of the neighbor's cat that looks about ready to attack. Haymitch, the cats' owner, stands in the doorway, his eyes forward as he smokes a cigarette. I don't know how long he has been there but there is truly no guessing.

Haymitch has lived in these apartments for nearly twenty-five years, once living in the apartment I do now before deciding he wanted a change and buying the one next door. The man—for lack of better words—is a lazy drunk. He owns the liquor store one block away and Peeta and I are nearly certain he is his own best customer. I can't remember the last time I've seen the man sober though by now it's just a common understanding that when you see Haymitch, he will either slur nasty insults at you or will be passed out in his chair, his cat drinking from the flask he just finished.

We've become friendly over the years and he sometimes invites me over for a drink. I help him out in the store sometimes, being he is often too drunk to run it himself. The friendship between Haymitch and I is a weird one, though I wouldn't trade it for anything. Peeta doesn't understand it either. I know he's always weary and anxious when he knows we're together but he has nothing to worry about.

Haymitch and I are a team. He's the dirty old drunk and I'm his equally disturbed side-kick.

"Please, don't stop on my account. I feel the two of you were making some really good progress," he says, taking a break between inhaling to speak to us. He still doesn't look our way though I can feel the blush rising on my cheeks and I'm nearly certain Peeta's reaction mirrors my own.

"How long have you been out here," I ask after a while, not really caring for an answer but feeling it would be rude to call him the names flowing through my mind without proper knowledge of the situation.

"Not long," he admits with a shrug. "Maybe ten, fifteen minutes."

"Long enough," Peeta mummers under his breath, releasing my waist with one last squeeze.

"We'll look who decided to speak. Nice to see you, Peter," Haymitch laughs, looking around me. Peeta huffs.

"It's Peeta," he corrects.

"And I don't care," Haymitch replies, laughing to himself. And _this_ is the relationship between the two of them, almost as if their each vying for my attention though Haymitch always takes a more subtle approach. His insults usually come in the form of side comments and back-handed compliments while Peeta just says what's on his mind.

Haymitch is the only person I've ever seen Peeta be remotely mean too but I can't say I mind. There are plenty of times where I wish to tell Haymitch to fuck off but Peeta has already done it for me.

"So what plans does my favorite young couple have tonight? Ice skating downtown? A nice dinner?" Neither one of us answer so he takes the opportunity to pounce. "Or maybe another sleepover? Seems those are happening a lot these days though, I can't say I blame you, Mellark. Katniss is a pretty one."

I groan just as Peeta does. "He's drunk and doesn't know what he's saying," I tell Peeta, noticing the change in his stance and feeling the slight shake in his arms. He relaxes under my words, realizing he's about to fight an old man who won't remember a thing he's said when the next hours rolls around.

Haymitch scoffs then. "The boy want a go around the block? I still know a thing or two," he's joking, both Peeta and I know it but I wouldn't be surprised if Peeta took a swing.

With the tension heading to a boiling point, I redirect Peetas attention towards myself, tugging on the sleeve of the sweater he wears. His attention is averted for a second, his blue eyes meeting my grey ones, the rage and fire that once filled them replaced with a tenderness and growing sense of appreciation.

"Where are we going tonight," he asks me then, low enough that only my ears would be able to hear it. It doesn't matter because Haymitches attention is no longer on us and instead on his cat, which is clawing at his leg, trying it's best to reach the contents of his silver flask.

"Tonight," I repeat, trailing off. I'd spent so much of my time contemplating the reason for my "lost" invitation to Annie and Finnicks wedding that I had forgotten my current dilemma.

I can't tell him the truth.

Silently—for the first time in my five years of knowing Haymitch—I'm thankful for his presence. "Haymitch actually invited me over for dinner a little before you came over," I lie. My eyes flicker over to Haymitch who's eyes raise at the sound of his name. I try to plead with my eyes, begging him to lie for me. In his drunken state I suspect that he truly _does_ think he probably asked me over.

Peeta doesn't like me spending time with Haymitch but I guarantee he wouldn't be too pleased with men I am _really_ spending my time with.

Peetas face reddens, his smile falling as he takes in the meaning of my words. His eyes flicker between Haymitch and I, obviously weighing something heavily in his mind. "Well, that sounds fun," he mumbles numbly, almost sarcastically.

"Wish you'd join us, boy," Haymitch mumbles just as sarcastically.

I know Peeta won't take the offer but for a moment, I'm worried he will.

But when he mumbles something about new recipes all the worry subsides and is replaced by the inevitable feeling of guilt that I'm so used too.

"I'll call you after dinner," I promise then, clinging onto his bicep before he can turn to walk away.

"Okay," he whispers though his blue eyes say so much more. Peeta won't make a fuss in front of Haymitch and I know he won't say anything to me in this moment. There will not be any snide remarks on his part, only on mine and he as he turns to leave, my stomach sinks as I watch his figure disappear. He looks at me once more with a confused glaze over his eyes, before lifting his hand to wave.

His car disappears into the sunset, something like you see in the closing credits of a dramatic movie. Hell, my life was becoming a dramatic movie.

I completely forget about Haymitch until I hear him croak from behind me, a hand in his long greasy hair and the other nursing his now empty bottle. "What," I snarl.

"When should I expect you over for dinner, sweetheart," he jokes, his eyes crinkling under my scowl.

"I just need him gone," I say, crossing my hands over my chest defensively. I knew what a horrible "friend" I was to Peeta but to have someone openly mock me for it made my stomach hurt and blood pressure rise. No one was allowed to patronize me; especially not some old drunk who would spend the rest of his life alone.

"Oh, yeah. I forgot," he says. I'm about to add a snide comment about his drinking but before I get the chance, his voice rings out, only loud enough that my ears are barely able to catch it. "I forget the boy doesn't know about your night time exploits."

My face burns red under his gaze and I find that I'm unable to look up into his eyes. Not because I'll find self-pity but because I'll find something else—disappointment.

Haymitch knows. He's known for a while though he's never said anything to me. A handful of times I've caught sight of him from the corner of my eye as I slip into the night. When I return, he's usually in the same spot, lifting his hand in greeting as I pass him.

He doesn't ever look like he's slept and I know in a way, he's waiting up for me. Deep in his cold rotting body is a heart, one that loves me in a way that Peeta doesn't though getting Haymitch to admit it would be just as difficult as making him put the bottle down.

"My night time exploits are none of your business." My voice is unconvincing, weak—I'm embarrassed for a moment. I sound like my mother.

Haymitch says nothing. He just walks into his apartment silently. I wait until I hear the soft click of his lock before entering my own apartment, fighting all urge to break down onto the floor. I know I can't do that though.

I have a job in a few hour, I remind myself though the thought only brings me closer to tears.

House calls are the worst. Any kind of call is bad; every kind of call makes my heart sink into my stomach to the point where I think I'm going to vomit but house calls makes me feel as if I will faint.

Doing my job in motels give me the comfort of security—wondering eyes. Though usually I would hate that kind of thing, I know someone will hear my screams if needed.

With house calls there's no one to scream for—no one else there.

The men who usually ask for these "private services" in their homes are the wealthy kind—the ones who can't afford to be seen in public. Politicians, professors, business investors… those kinds of people.

The worst thing is most of them are married. They don't even bother removing their rings.

I've always wondered if their wives have sneaking suspensions of their private escapades that happen within their own homes. I always wonder where they are—maybe a weekend at their mothers or the beach house in Cancun. These poor, polished women who believe their married to respectable men who are exactly the opposite. Their husbands are nothing but dirty bastards looking for some sort of sick release they aren't getting from the women they vowed the rest of their lives too.

But I'm no better than these oblivious women.

I'm the dirty whore who sleeps on their side of the bed when their away and their husbands wish to play.

* * *

The house is a nice one—much like I expected. The front side of the house is lined with long rectangular windows, leaving nothing to the imagination being in the dead of the night you can see inside the home.

I watch the man, drinking a scotch on his egg shell couch for a while, wondering just what kind of customer he'll be.

He's groomed well, his rusted hair slicked back and an expensive watch on his left arm. I check his hand. The ring is there.

I think about leaving then, running to my car and calling Snow to tell him I couldn't go through with it. But that would only bring bad things for me; things I didn't need at the moment. Plus, I was getting paid well for this job—better than most and with Christmas a few weeks away having a little extra spending money wasn't really a bad thing nor was it something I wanted to turn away.

I count to three, something my grief therapist taught me when I was sixteen—it seems to work and old habits die hard. Counting doesn't leave me any time to overthink things. It's truly one of the only ways I've managed to stay sane though I feel that slipping away along with everything else in my life.

I knock on the door then.

The man looks up from his drink, his eyes soft brown matching the shade of the sweater he's wearing. His initial surprise of seeing me isn't masked being his windowed home doesn't leave any room for that. I watch as he anxiously moves from the couch, wiping his hands on the dark jeans he's wearing, obviously a nervous wreck. Good. He's just as nervous as I am.

He's handsome—just not Peeta handsome but no one is. Not in my eyes at least.

"Hi," he says opening the door, not opening it wide to welcome me but just enough to talk to me.

"Hello," I say quietly.

"I'm Luke," he says softly, not offering me up a last name but I don't care—the less I know about the man the better.

"Katherine," I reply.

I never give anyone my real name. Katniss is to unique—whoever knew me could _easily_ find me. I learned that after my first year on the job. Luckily, that year also came college and moving half way across the country.

"Katherine," Luke replies nervously, nodding my way. "That's a beautiful name."

_Well it isn't mine. _"Thanks." I don't offer up anything more.

"Come in Katherine." He finally steps aside, opening the door, inviting me into his home.

My eyes wander around the door way, around what the windows did not show me.

He doesn't seem like a serial killer but you can never be too sure.

"Would you like anything to drink? We have water, soda, wine, vodka—anything you'd like." I consider his offer which is normally something I wouldn't do. Getting drunk before getting down to business sure would help calm my nerves but I don't want to do anything I'm going to regret. I've been there to many times before for my short twenty-four years of life.

"Water would be nice, thanks."

Luke leaves me alone then, wandering off into what I believe to be the kitchen. I stand in the doorway then, not sure what to do. I admire the pictures lining the walls, the ones of the beautiful children lying in a circle, their heads touching as they smile up at the camera. Then the picture of Luke and his wife, a beautiful blonde woman whose wedding dress couldn't be any less than $10,000. I reach up to trace the picture, unaware that I now had an audience.

"Beautiful, isn't she?" Lukes deep voice startles me, causing me to yelp in surprise, the picture swaying on its tack on the wall. "Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you."

"It's okay," I respond.

"Your water," he says, extending the bottle over to me, his hand grazing mine as he does so. My skin crawls under his touch. I say nothing in response, just raising the bottle to my lips and taking a small sip, careful to taste for anything strange. I don't, thankfully. "You can take your coat off if you'd like."

Reluctantly, I shrug off the coat. I say nothing.

"You seem nervous, Katherine."

"You don't need to be nice to me."

His chivalry reminds me a lot of Peeta—_my_ Peeta who is sitting at home oblivious to where I currently am; to what I'm currently doing.

Luke frowns. "How should I act then?"

"Let's just get down to business, okay?"

In a minute, I'm topless, sitting cross-legged on the couch, waiting on Luke to make the next move—to get this damn thing over with so I can get home to the man I love.

* * *

It's 1:21am when I arrive home.

Snow started to fall from the sky on my ride home, making the thirty mile drive to my apartment even more nerve-wracking. The shake in my hands is not helping nor is the constant ringing of my phone. The damned mechanical device has been ringing in my purse nonstop for an hour.

My hands shake as I search in my purse, worry getting the best of me as I claw for the thing with clammy hands. I worry for Prim—maybe something happened to her; maybe their calling to confirm my worst fears.

But when I finally found the heavy metal device, it's not my mother calling or Prim or Johanna or Snow.

It's Peeta.

He's called thirteen times, left two voicemails, and five text messages.

Shit. I had promised to call after dinner with Haymitch and there is _no_ way dinner with Haymitch lasted until 1:30 in the morning.

I waste no time dialing his number which is imprinted in my mind, waiting patiently. He picks up on the third ring.

"Hello?" His voice is heavy with sleep.

"Sorry to wake you, Peeta," I say after a while, not really knowing what to say.

"Where are you, Katniss?"

I sigh deeply, crossing my legs out of comfort as I sit on the couch. "I'm at home."

"Are you, really?"

"Yes, I'm at home." _I am, now. _

"Why haven't you been answering any of my calls?" Peeta's voice sounds so vulnerable—so unlike the strong, confident tone I'm used to hearing. "I've been worried sick, Katniss."

"I left my phone in my apartment," I lie. "I didn't realize you'd be calling."

"You left it in your apartment," he asks, exasperated. "Okay, well what were you doing in Haymitches apartment until 1 in the morning?"

And deeper down the rabbit hole I go.

"We just got to talking, I don't know. Lost track of time, I guess." There's silence from the other end and for a moment I worry I've lost him. "I'm sorry, I should've called sooner."

"I'm sorry, Katniss," he answers back. "I should've known that. I don't know why I was being so stupid. I just get so worried sometimes because I don't really know what this thing is but the thought of your with other guys makes me want to put my head through a wall. Oh god, I sound so goddamn stupid and I really never planned to do this over the phone but I need you to know I lo-"

"Peeta, stop," I interrupt.

These are the words I wanted to hear for so long but now wasn't when I wanted to hear them. Not when I'd spent my night giving myself to another man and still smelled of cologne.

Peeta says nothing for a while but neither do I.

His humorless laugh breaks the silence.

"I'm sorry, Katniss."

"Me too, Peeta."

"What do you have to be sorry for? I'm the one who freaks out all the time," he says. "Sometimes I think I'm more of the girl in the," he hesitates before adding, "relationship."

What do I have to be sorry for? Everything I've done for the past five years of my life.

"No, Peeta," I whisper. "We're both pretty bad at this, aren't we?"

He laughs again on the other side of the phone. I'm convinced it's the most beautiful sound I've ever heard. "We'll get better."

These are the little things Peeta says that make me know that whatever this is, he plans to be in it for the long run but I am too.

"Yeah, we will," I promise. "I'll call more."

"What?"

"I'll call. Like when I promise to call, I'll actually call."

"Okay," he says and I can hear the smile through the phone. "And I promise to stop being such a little bitch all the time."

It's my turn to laugh. "Peeta, you did not call yourself a little bitch."

He laughs along with me, falling into a fit of giggles. "Oh my god, Finnick would be _so_ proud."

"Speaking of Finnick, am I your guest to the wedding?"

"Well who else would I invite?"

"I don't know, maybe that girl Glimmer from the strip club. She was pretty into you," I joke, laughing at the memory.

"Oh my god, _you remember that_?"

"Why wouldn't I?"

"I've never seen anyone so drunk in my life—not even Finnick in our college days!"

"I was _not_ that drunk," I say, my cheeks burning.

"You pretty much mounted me in the middle of a strip club," he yells. "Not even to mention _you_ were the one who suggested we go to a strip club!"

"Hey, Mr. Mellark! I heard no complaints!"

We laugh with each other for what seems like hours and these are the moments I wish we had more of. Moments where we laughed at each other versus being mad at each other. Light moments where for once we acted our age.

"I knew from that day you were a keeper," his voice is hesitant as if he's scared to say the words.

"It took strippers to convince you I was worth keeping around?"

"That and a lot of other things."

I smile.

"I really do, Katniss, okay?"

It takes me a moment to understand but after a while I do.

"Okay," I whisper, unsure of what to say back.

"So you'll allow it?"

"I'll allow it."

* * *

Let me know what you guys think about this chapter!

Thanks for the support.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

"Do you even taste your food, Brainless?"

I ignore Johannas crude comments and continue eating, realizing now that it's been days since I've had a real meal—anything other than a bag of chips or the cheese buns Peeta keeps bringing by from the bakery late at night. Life on the run sure does pay its price.

It was rare I even heard from Johanna before noon so I was pleasantly surprised when I woke up to the find the dark headed women cooking breakfast in my kitchen. She was dressed in her work clothes—I suppose she just never went home.

"Are you not eating," I ask once I've finished my fourth helping, finally noticing that Johanna has simply been sitting in front of me, nursing a cup of coffee that she hasn't touched. She uses the mug Peeta always does, the green one with permanent lipstick stains around the rim.

"I'm not hungry." I shrug. Johanna was a big girl, she can handle herself. "I invited Haymitch over for breakfast but he just kind of growled at me."

I'm not surprised. Haymitch has been avoiding me for days now, ever since our last conversation. I watch as he ducks into his house whenever my car pulls up or how he conveniently has something to do whenever I enter the liquor store asking for him at the front desk. He has never truly been one for such cowardly avoidance but he has never really been one for real confrontation either. He'll get over it in a few days but until then I suppose we will continue skating around each other.

"He's been in quite the mood lately," I tell her, not wanting to get too specific as to why that is.

"Tell me about it. It seems like the whole world is in their pre-Christmas funk," she says with a dramatic eye roll.

"What are you doing for Christmas?" I ask.

Holidays have always been hard for me ever since leaving home—especially Christmas. Ironically enough, it used to be my favorite holiday. The lights, the snow, the never ending array of colorful cookies, and brand new toys—it was truly the only time I felt like a normal child because even us Everdeens got a present under the tree on Christmas morning.

But then my dad died and so began the long string of depressing Christmases filled with drugged out mothers and no presents but a rewrapped sweater or a yard of cloth for Prim to make a dress with. If we were lucky, a small chain from Gale if he had money to spare and a plain cookie if my mother remembered.

So now the Christmas holidays brought a never ending worry. Back in college, I could simply ignore the holiday by staying on campus, locking myself away in my apartment. I'd send my mom some extra cash, buy Prim some new clothes, maybe send them a poinsettia if I was in the festive mood. I haven't been home in years. Not since Prim was twelve and still wore bows in her hair which she reminded me just the other day was "like ten-fucking-years ago". A widely exaggerated and vulgar statement but the cussing added to her point. The point being I hadn't been home to know who she was anymore and she certainly wasn't the little girl with bows in her hair I'd left on the porch all those Christmases ago.

Lucky enough for me, Johanna despises going home nearly as much as I do. We've made it a tradition get drunk on Christmas Eve and feel the pain Christmas morning. We've invited Haymitch before but even he had better things to do and in the years I've known Peeta, he has always gone back home.

"Same thing as every year, Kitty Kat. Why? Are we switching up the plan this Christmas?"

I don't answer because I don't know.

Peeta mentioned a few weeks ago about going _with_ him back to Virginia for the holidays. The conversation had been brought up after dinner at the bakery one night when I confessed I never go home for not just Christmas but truthfully, any holiday. His proposition had stunned me into silence for a good thirty seconds, the air around us suddenly constricting my air ways and by the bright red color Peetas normally tan skinned turned, I could tell it was doing the same to him.

The subject was changed quickly though and all tension from the conversation wiped out of the air by Peeta who knew so carefully how to avoid a long, awkward dinner.

"Peeta asked me to go home with him," I admit.

I expect her to laugh but instead I'm rewarded with her silence.

"Maybe you should go," she says thoughtfully after a while, her eyes not meeting mine. "If he was being serious."

"I thought you were all about not getting serious," I whisper.

Johanna says nothing. She's deep in thought when I look up from my food; her eyes are staring blankly over me as if something is floating directly above my head. I chance a glance up out of habit but find nothing but air and the cracked ceiling above me. I make a quick mental note to tell my landlord about that. Peeta always reminds me, telling me one day he's going to come home to find me trapped underneath debris. It never escapes me how he always says _home._

"Peeta is a good guy, Katniss."

Johanna never comments much on Peeta. I know she's not a big supporter of any type of relationships outside of work ones—outside of the relationships we're paid to make. She doesn't believe we deserve to be happy. She'd never say the words aloud but I know how she feels because I feel the same way at times.

"I know he is. That is the point."

We don't say anything else about Peeta from that point on, simply making small talk about the weather and the sports teams and whatever reality television show Johanna is into for the time being. She tells me about her plan to die her hair red but we both agree Snow would _not_ be very happy with the change. "Screw him," she says. We both know neither of us means this.

Getting on Snows bad side was somewhere no one wanted to be. Johanna and I had seen it up close and personal with other girls who work for the agency. My first week a girl had entered the office in one piece and left the office with a busted lip and missing tooth. The next day, she arrived early for work, her lip stitched up and her tooth replaced. But that was the way Snow worked. He'd give you hell then go to the ends of the earth to fix it.

I tried to stay quite around Snow, patient and kind whenever he would talk to me. I would fight every impulse I had to throw some backhanded comment in his face every time he just looked at me. I knew when it was my place to say something and when it wasn't.

"You have a job tonight?"

I swallow deeply. "Just a guest tonight. Some sort of ball downtown—the man just got divorced from his wife," I tell her. Snow had called me earlier today with the news. I was relieved to say the least. Being a guest meant just that. I was to be seen with the gentleman and talk to him and if things were progressing nicely, maybe let him kiss me on the cheek when the night ended. The men always provide hair and makeup and gowns. They want their money's worth. They want something to brag about at a round of golf at the country club.

"Well lucky you, I'll be there too."

* * *

Like I had expected, hair and makeup arrives at my apartment around five.

I'm greeted at the door by a man with orange hair, his jeans to tight for his plump body and the pumps he wore bigger than anything I've ever owned. He's flanked by two women, both with outrageously colored hair who are looking around my apartment with evident distain on their features.

"Hello, you must be Katniss," the man says, reaching out a perfectly manicured hand in greeting.

"Nice to meet you," I reply formally. "You are?"

"Flavius," he replies. Oh, what a name. "I'll be doing your hair for tonight." He grabs the tip of my braid, admiring the obvious splits in the follicles. I wasn't one for haircuts or manicures or anything frivolous. Being under my prep team's demeaning looks, I'm beginning to wish I was.

Flavius seems to regain composure after a moment, wiping away the obvious disgust on his face and motioning to the two women who are holding their knockoff bags tightly to their chests as if they have any real value. "This is Octavia and Venia."

"I'll be waxing your eyebrows," Venia says, her European accent heavy. She glances me over once. "And a few other things," she adds below her breath but it was obviously intended for me to hear. My cheeks flush under their scrutiny and for a moment, I think about asking them to leave but if I did that, there is no doubt word would get back to Snow. So I bite my tongue—something I was beginning to excel in.

"And I will be in charge of your nails," Octavia says, her hands gripping for my own, gliding over my brittle nails which were much to short, due to the habit I'd picked up at a young age of biting them. "Oh dear," she whispers, clutching her heart dramatically.

Well this should be fun.

The prep team begins their long arduous task of making me look decent. They prod and pull for nearly an hour, taking a good forty-five minutes to just scrub my body down. Though I took a shower this morning, they still insist, not stopping their assault on my skin until I'm sure they've removed a layer.

They talk to each other while they work, never to me. I find out Flavius has just landed a job at a high-end hair salon in the city, Octavia just can't find the right shade of emerald nail polish everywhere she's looked, and Venia is strongly considered shaving her head to start a new trend.

They all seem to be pretty good friends, "oohing" and "ahhing" at all the appropriate moments, asking all the correct questions, and being genuinely happy for one another's accomplishments and sad for their failures. I decide I should try and find more friends like these, no matter how weird and judgmental they may be.

When the pain from the waxing and the side comments from my hair end, they all decide it's time to call someone named Cinna. They don't talk directly to _me_ of course, but don't try to whisper quietly. "Who's Cinna," I ask them, rubbing the area where I used to have eyebrows.

Octavia slaps my hand. "You'll mess up your nails, Katniss. Please try and be careful," she scolds.

I mumble my apology. "Who's Cinna," I ask again.

"He's the head stylist for tonight. Mr. Vandross specifically asked that he be the one to attend to you," Flavius tells me, washing his scissors in my kitchen sink. I look to my feet, wondering if he also plans on sweeping up the five inches of hair lying there.

Mr. Vandross. The name is familiar and I know a handful of girls at the agency who have accompanied him to events and benefits and done all types of house calls. Though I've never had the pleasure of meeting him, from what I heard he tips well.

We all sit in silence then, waiting patiently for Cinna to arrive at my apartment. He would fit me in my gown and then the prep team would finish what little details were needed to be done—at least that's what Venia explains to me. In all honesty, no one has ever gone this existent when it comes to making me over for events. Most men trust that I'll look presentable when I arrive and the men that do spend a little extra money to make sure I look good simply make an appointment for me at Sephora or use the makeup artist, Clove, that the agency has on call.

I've never truly had a prep team that consisted of four people, all specializing in different areas.

"I don't do this often," I admit.

They all giggle amongst themselves, making it obvious I'm on the outside of whatever little inside joke they have. "Oh, we believe you," Octavia laughs, shooting me a wink and crooked smile. She has lip stick on her teeth but just for that snide comment, I chose not to say anything.

The doorbell rings then and Flavius wastes no time answering it. "Cinna, hello, hello."

All chatter and giggling stop then for my prep team. In fact, Octavias face blushes a bright red. I smirk.

It turns out Cinna is a man. A man with dark skin who, unlike his team, has normal colored hair, the only thing slightly exquisite about him is the gold eyeliner he wears along his top lid. He's a small man, no taller than me in fact, he may be shorter. In his arms he carries a white bag which inevitably holds whatever gown I'll be stuffed into tonight.

"Hello, Katniss," he whispers.

"Hello, Cinna. That's your name, correct?" He nods, moving around Flavius, Octavia, and Venia, examining their work as if he was at an art exhibit and I was the main subject. I suppose things were that way now.

Cinna made me feel more at ease than his employees did as he starts toying with my damp hair, his eyes running over me again and again until he seems pleased. He doesn't look at me as if I'm dirty or gross or anyone less than him. I scoff. Maybe his prep team could learn a thing or two.

"Something wrong, Katniss? You seem tense." I hadn't realized it but it seemed in the moments I've been standing under scrutiny, I've crossed my arms defensively, shying away from Cinnas touch.

"Force of habit," I admit, letting my arms fall to my sides as he once again circles me like I'm his prey.

"I completely understand. This can sometimes be very uncomfortable work." I nod in agreement. "My prep team has done quite the job with you. I must say, I'm impressed." They nearly burst with excitement from his praise, sharing looks with each other as Cinna turns his back to me. For the sake of being polite, I too give them a small smile.

"It's not an easy job," I say with a smile. "They went through hell trying to make me look presentable." Octavia nods her head viciously, only stopping when Flavius shoots his elbow into her side. I scowl.

"Oh, I doubt that," Cinna whispers. His fingers toy with the wrap around the plastic bag he's holding, lightly unraveling the shield from around it's contents.

When he pulls the dress from its hiding place, I'm left speechless.

The dress is orange, a soft orange that reminds me of the sunsets from back home. The skirt is layered, made to appear like fire with the ravishing colors, shades of yellow and red I'd never seen before. It touches the ground, a train leaving me ten steps behind where I've already been. I've never seen anything so beautiful and in this moment the only thing I can think about is how much Peeta would've loved this—and how much the dress costs.

"Oh Cinna," I whisper, reaching a hand out to touch the fabric of the dress, relishing in the feeling of it between my fingers knowing I'll never touch something so extravagant again. The man whom bought this dress for me must really be in the mood to impress his colleagues.

"Mr. Vandross must only want the best for you," Cinna mumbles, motioning to my bedroom door with his free hand. "Lead the way; I would like to see how it looks _on_."

I feel stuffed inside my bedroom which is the perfect size for me and livable with Peeta. With four extra bodies, a ten pound dress, and a case containing god knows what, the room seemed to shrink to the size that would only be acceptable for ants. No one comments on the mess I've left cluttered around the floor from Peeta and I's sleepover but I feel embarrassed, knowing my mother—if she wasn't strung out on drugs—would surely reprimand me for keeping my living space in these condition, especially with guests.

"I know there isn't much space-" I begin.

"It's perfect," Cinna interrupts, looking towards a shell shocked Flavius for support. Upon meeting Cinnas deadly eyes, he nods enthusiastically, sending a smile my way before joining Venia in a small corner of the room. "You don't mind changing in front of us, do you?"

Yes. "No, of course not." He motions for me begin then, turning around to tend the dress while whispering rapidly towards his prep team who all nod vigorously.

Once all clothes expect my bra and underwear have been discarded onto the floor—only adding to the ever present mess—I turn to Cinna for instruction. He toys with my bra for a moment, taking me by surprise as he moves my breasts then fixes my straps, making them perky and stand up on attention. I look in mirror, amazed my small attributes could have such an affect. I smile then—Peeta really would love this.

"You've got a wonderful body," Cinna comments. For once, the praise doesn't make me uncomfortable. Peeta says things like this all the time that make me blush red and bite my lip from embarrassment. Cinna saying the words makes me feel none of these things. In fact, it almost makes me feel beautiful. Almost. "Do you work out often?"

"I run. I enjoy it," I tell him, smoothing my hands over the expanse of my stomach. It was toned but not empty like it used to be. It took me a long time to get my body to look healthy and not sickly. Snow made sure of that. Men liked skinny, not dying.

"It's a good habit to have."

We small talk then as he prepares my body for the dress, placing double sided tape on my skin as Flavius covered my freckles with a light foundation. Octavia runs a brush through my hair as it dries and Venia lotions my legs, massaging my calves as she does so. They don't gossip anymore and I can't tell if I'm relieved or bored.

"The dress may be too big," Octavia whispers beneath her breath to Cinna who doesn't bat an eye in her direction.

"It won't be."

The prep team leaves then at the request of Cinna, shuffling from the room with quiet whispers. I watch them as they go, looking almost relieved. "I'm sorry about them," Cinna says once they've gone.

"Don't be. Their actually really entertaining," I admit. It had been a long time since I've spoken to anyone other than Peeta, Johanna, or Prim. It was nice to be distracted for once by someone elses drama and not consumed by my own.

Cinna works in silence then, pulling fabric over my body then pulling it off and repeating the process so many times I've lost count. I don't say anything; just let him do his magic. I assume he knows what he is doing. If Mr. Vandross hired him he must be the best of the best.

I don't know how long it takes—it feels like hours—but at last, Cinna pulls away from my body one last time, a slow smile spreading over his aged face. "You look absolutely stunning, Katniss."

Looking in the mirror that's just how I feel—stunning. The dress is just as beautiful and classic as I imagined it, more extraordinary than I could have ever expected.

I'm on fire. I am the girl on fire.

* * *

Johanna requested we go together for safety.

Mr. Vandross had sent an email to my work phone—the one hidden in the bottom of my sock drawer that rang endlessly and went unanswered most of the time—asking me to escort myself there and meet him in his suite. Inevitably the room he's staying in is the pent house.

I don't try to ignore the stares I get as I through the doors of the hotel. Johanna flanks me, looking equally as elegant as I though she complained about the lack of imagination her stylist seemed to have. I only smiled. I _had_ lucked out with Cinna—I would not deny that.

Nevertheless, the women dressed in designer gowns holding on tightly to their husbands arms looked at me with pure envy as I strode by.

For once, I wanted them to look.

It turns the event is a charity event. An event that Mr. Vandross is putting on himself.

I'm lucky enough to be on his arm, sitting at the head of the table next to the man of hour, looking sleek in a tux, his greying hair slicked back. He hadn't spoken to me all night. In fact, when I arrived he simply took me by the arm, escorting me back to the elevators I had just stepped out of. The minutes leading to entering the ballroom were tense but once the big doors opened, showing our smiling faces to the hundreds of guests he had invited, our own faces reflected a look of pure joy.

I did know how to act in situations like this at the least. Once we sat down, that's when all prior knowledge working for Snow ended. All I knew how to do know was smile and other things—things that weren't appropriate to do in a room of the city's finest.

Luckily for me, Johanna's guy seems to be Mr. Vandrosses left hand man—quite literally—and is seated next to me, sipping quietly on the champagne that had been brought by along with our dinner. Salmon and asparagus. I hated salmon and asparagus so I chose to attend to my glass of water.

"Are you not eating," Mr. Vandross asks me. This is the first time I've heard his voice which reminds me too much of Peetas for comfort. I squirm uncomfortably under his gaze.

"I'm not very hungry," I reply politely, aware of Johannas careful eyes on the interaction. I chance a glance around the room. I'm thankful for everyone elses obvious intoxication.

"Eat," he says though it comes out as more of an order.

"I'm sorry?"

"Eat."

Without another word I chew quietly on a now cold piece of asparagus, sharing a look with Johanna that only she can read.

He doesn't speak to me again and I don't speak to him. I just watch, smile at people who walk up to the table to share congratulations and shake hands with whomever he introduces me too. They all call me Katherine.

Mr. Vandross excuses us from the table sometime after eleven—after the speeches have been given and very generous donations have been made. My steps falter for a moment, the heels I'm strapped in to much higher than my norm but Mr. Vandross keeps a tight hold on my arm, pulling me a long with him with just enough force that only I can tell I'm—for lack of better words—being dragged.

"You're hurting me, Mr. Vandross," I whisper softly once we're out of ear shot from anyone but the man working behind the bar. I worry he'll leaves bruises. "Please let me go."

"You've embarrassed me tonight," he says then.

"How would I do that? I have not said a word to anyone all night."

He says nothing, just continues to pull me after him pass the front desk, past the concierges, past the gift shop, and straight into the elevator where he releases me with a slight push once the doors have closed behind us. We're alone, no one else in sight as we make the adventure up one hundred and two floors to the penthouse.

I shake in the corner, trying my best to hide from his view and from my spot, it appears, he too, is shaking. From what? I haven't said a word to anyone all night, not unless I was asked to speak or directly spoken too. Mr. Vandross answered all the questions—where we met, how long we've known each other, our plans for the future. I did nothing more than smile and look pretty, the only thing I was expected to do. If I had angered the man it was purely unintentional.

When the elevator dings, he's holding me once again though this time I try my hardest to stay in stride with him to avoid the degrading notion of being pulled like a disobedient child. He moves quickly, obviously with purpose and I think for a moment how far I would get if I were to just run.

My feet wouldn't take me far in these heels but if there was some way I could shake them loose without him noticing, he wouldn't be able to catch me—not with all the weight he holds in his midsection. I would just have to run one floor—bang on the doors or scream in the hallways until someone heard me and took me in. He'd never find me.

But if he didn't, Snow would.

"I think you should just pay me for the hours I've worked and let me go home. My limo is waiting downstairs, I promise I'll leave without making a scene," I promise, trying my best to untangle myself but the more I fight, the tighter his hold on me gets. Well shit. What have I gotten myself into now?

"That wasn't the deal, Ms. Everdeen and in fact, if I was a heartless man I would send you on your way now with nothing on your back and no money in hand, do you understand?" He breath smells of the four whiskeys he has had tonight.

"I'm afraid I don't understand what I've done to make you so angry," I admit once I've found my voice.

"I'm sure you don't, they never do." I get the sense he is no longer talking to me or about me. He seems to be at war within himself and as he releases my arm with a large sigh, I can't help but stumble back and away from him, finding myself with my back pressed against the door, hand on the knob prepared to go. "You're not leaving are you? I paid a lot of money for you, Katherine."

"I'm not having sex with you if that is what you're implying, Mr. Vandross. That was not part of the deal you made with Snow and I am not-"

Then there's a blinding pain, one radiating from my back that pushes me to the ground with as much force as a two ton elephant. I cannot mask the pain I feel. Instead I cry out, a long drawn out groan that I know will not be heard by anyone but Mr. Vandross himself.

As I lie on the ground, nursing my lower back, I tell myself something that I know is not true.

That I deserve it.

Before I'm able to recuperate I'm struck once more, this time on my face. It doesn't hurt—not nearly as bad but it triggers something inside of me. A floodgate of some sorts and before I know it I'm sobbing uncontrollably, loud enough to startle Mr. Vandross. I don't look up at him though I can feel him retreating, obviously worried by my sudden display of emotion.

Its moments later when I hear his footsteps retreat down the hall that I know he's left. I know he isn't going to hurt me anymore—at least not anytime soon.

Moving doesn't seem like a possibility, not when the burning fire in the arch of my back now feels like a million bee stings.

I think about that fall after my father died when I fell from the tree by the lake and broken my foot. I had been alone that day, skipping school in order to avoid dealing with the looks from my fellow classmates. I didn't want to hunt or swim or hike, I just wanted to sit in that damn tree all day until the suns fading and the moons arrival forced me to go home. Life had other plans though and before I knew what was happening, I was falling thirty-five feet from the branches of the tree and landed on my foot.

I didn't cry when I'd broken it. I didn't do anything but simply lie there like I was doing now. I remember feeling like I wanted to stay there forever just to be away from everyone, from all my problems. I remember crying when Gale found me hours later; a panic looked on his face as he scooped me up in his arms and ran with me back to town. The doctors told me my foot was broken but I already knew that. They called my mother but she didn't answer but I knew she wouldn't.

They had told me I was lucky Gale had found me but I didn't feel lucky.

I've never felt lucky.

Gale was my knight in shining armor that day but it seemed Johanna would be tonight because before I could comprehend a thing, I was being cut free of my dress. I froze at the feeling of being exposed but relaxed when green eyes looked into mine and dark black hair clouded my vision.

"Katniss can you hear me?" Yes. "Are you okay? What happened?"

That was a good question because I didn't know.

"I'm going to change you into these clothes now, okay? The limo is waiting outback and then I'm going to take you home, okay?" I just nod.

Johanna wraps a coat around me, one that smells of her, a mixture or cigarettes and Sweet Pea from Bath and Body Works. Then she pulls me, not aggressively but progressively, trying to get me out of the penthouse as soon as possible.

I don't know where Mr. Vandross is. I don't care. I suppose he called her or let her in or something. Maybe Johanna forced her way in—that wouldn't surprise me either.

"What hurts, Katniss," she asks me calmly, rubbing her hands up and down my back in an action that is supposed to be soothing. Everything. Everything hurts. "You need to talk to me or I'm taking you to the hospital."

We've reached her car by then. She bends my head down as she pushes me into the backseat, giving me strict instructions that I don't hear.

Despite my lack of conversation she doesn't take me to the hospital. I knew she wouldn't. It was an empty threat. What would we tell the doctors?

She takes me home, shuffling me inside quickly before anyone sees us. I'm naked underneath the coat so putting me into Peetas oversized t-shirt isn't much of a challenge for her. Johanna tucks me in, smoothing the blankets around me like my father used to do during the winter all those years ago.

"Katniss, will you talk to me now? If you don't I'm going to have to call someone," she threatens.

I still don't answer, tears threatening to spill over again. Who would she call?

When I hear her shut the door some time later, I'm sure she's gone home for the night. So then I let myself cry.

Cry not because of the pain I feel in my back but because of the pain I feel in my heart.

I hear my door open sometime around two. "I don't want to talk to you, Johanna, just go! Please," I scream, my voice not sounding nearly as threatening as I would like through my tears.

The bed sinks beside me in a familiar way and I know instantly it is not Johanna I'm speaking too. It's the only other person she could call that would care.

"I'm sorry but I'm not leaving," Peeta says, kissing me just below my ear.

I go back to my solitude in silence, comforted by Peetas warm arms around me and the smell of peppermint on his breathe as he peppers me with kisses.

I don't stop crying, even with Peeta around. I've found I'm unable too.

"What happened?" He asks me softly. I shake my head. His hand grazes over my cheek where I'm sure there's a mark, evidence of my night. "Are you okay?" I nod.

"I am now."

I fall asleep to the feeling of him combing his fingers through my hair and promises of a better tomorrow.

* * *

chapter 3! hope you guys enjoyed it. It was a little short, one of the more boring chapters.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

I'm wandering aimlessly, through the woods behind our home with nothing on my feet as they trudge through the freshly fallen snow. It doesn't hurt—not anymore. I long ago got passed the feeling of knives slicing through me. Now I feel numb.

I don't know where I'm going or what I'm looking for but a voice in the back of mind whispers for me to move, urging me on and on into the point of no return. I don't know how long I've been walking but it must be hours. The sun was high in the sky when I began my journey but I could clearly see the face of the man on the moon staring down on me in earnest.

The metallic smell of blood follows me and as I chance a glance back, bloody foot prints mark my steps. I don't know where the blood came from, whose blood it is. I suppose it's mine. Maybe I'm dying and the Gods decided to spare me the agony of knowing it. Oh well. Who would really miss me?

I decide to sit then, pull my knees up to my chest and stare at the night sky, the stars which I can so clearly see without interference from all the lights the city provides. The trees cloud my view but nevertheless, I can see the stars. Millions and millions of them as they paint pictures across the sky and I have never seen anything so beautiful.

But then slowly, as if my mind was playing tricks on me, they begin to move. Not in the sense that daylight is coming, but I watch as they rearrange right before my eyes, creating a new picture only I can see.

They form eyes. First ones that are similar to my mothers, wide and observant, wandering almost just before they disappear from view. Then Gales, angry and full of fire—full of unfulfilled passion that could only be his. Prims are next, warm and gentle, crinkled at the sides as if she was smiling. Then my fathers.

My fathers are soft at first, similar to the way I remember them always being growing up. The way the corner of his eyes wrinkled due to old age, and the heavy bags underneath from the long hours in the mines. They change again, turning into something that doesn't at all remind me of my father but they don't lose their shape.

I squint up the reflection, sure I've inevitably lost my mind. "Katniss," my father's voice booms. The sound is so familiar as if it never left me and I move to my knees, crawling towards the sound like a child, my hands splinting on the protruding sticks and jagged rocks. I could care less about the pain.

"Dad," I call out, my arms struggling to control my weight under the pressure. "Dad," I call out once more when there is no answer.

"Oh, Katniss, look at you," the voice rings out, my arms unable to carry me any further. "What have you done to yourself? To the Everdeen name? I always believed you were so much better than this."

The words bring tears to my eyes but it's nothing I haven't heard before. I say it to myself daily. "I am," I whisper though the tone my voice takes suggest otherwise. "I am."

"But look at you, Katniss."

I do then, staring down at my now bloodied hands. I stare at my veins running up and down my arms, watch them pulse as they carry blood through my body. In the feint moonlight I can make out the purple tint my skin is. My arms are disfigured, broken and bruised and my legs are no different.

My father's laugh breaks me of my trance. This is not my father. This is not the man I knew, the man I loved. This is someone different, someone I do not wish to know. This is the man that haunts me.

The eyes in the sky have disappeared, the stars returned to their normal place, all that's left is the voice which is in my head. I cover my ears with my hands, hoping my ear drums burst soon.

I scream then; scream until my voice cracks from the pressure. Until the sound of my father's cynical laugh is tuned out and all I can hear is the shrill shriek of my own voice. I'm shaking, rattling on the ground as I beg for the torture to end and-

"KATNISS!" Peeta's voice wakes me from my trance as it does most nights.

I open my eyes, slowly adjusting my vision so I'm able to see around the dark room, only lit by the small light through the windows that the street lights provide. I'm instantly alerted by Peetas strong grip tightening around both of my clenched fists, pulling them close to his body as my breathing evens out.

"It's a dream. It was all just a dream," he chants, one hand coming to tangle itself within my hair.

It was a dream. Of course it was.

"It seemed so real," I say once I've managed to catch my bearings. Once the ringing laughter within my head dies away and the fear of look down to discover my body is broken is gone. I don't dare look at Peeta though I can feel his eyes on my head. I relax against his side after a while, closing my eyes as I feel him sink into me, his lips making their way to my hair the way they do most nights.

My nightmares come every night but in different forms. Most are about my father, some about Peeta, and some about Snow. The ones about my father always result in screaming, the ones about Peeta in crying, and the ones about Snow end in me with my head in the toilet. Sometimes—when things are really bad—it's a combination of all three.

But no matter what kind of nightmare it is, Peetas arms are always there to comfort me through the worst of it.

It's then when I notice the deep red scratches on his arms, making patterns on his skin and I wonder just how long Peeta was having to restrain me for. "I'm sorry," I whisper, moving my fingers to scale over the wounds I caused. It wouldn't be the first time my nightmares caused physical damage to Peeta but it never failed to make my stomach ache with guilt. "You probably shouldn't sleep in here with me anymore—it's getting dangerous." It's an attempt at a joke though it falls short with some truth behind it.

But Peeta laughs, nudging my side playfully as he moves away from my touch. "I like sleeping right here actually," he answers.

"You don't ever really sleep though." It's true. He's either up wrestling with me and my nightmares or doing other things specifically designed for the bedroom. His cheeks blush at my statement though I can barely make out the red tint in the darkness.

He doesn't say anything and moments later I hear his soft snore in my ear.

I fall under once again too to the sound of his breathing, this time without any nightmares.

...

I wake a second time, not to the sounds of my own screams, but to the lively smell of something spewing from my kitchen for the second time in a matter of hours. What a lucky girl I am.

I'm alone in bed now, all the cover wrapped around my body, and a dent where Peetas used to be. I hear him humming, off tune and loudly like his singing usually is. This brings a smile to my face when so little does these days.

Once I've washed my face and brushed my teeth, I stand quietly in the doorway as I watch Peeta move around the kitchen out of pure instinct, pouring water here, garnishing there. I don't know where all the ingredients come from being I only ever shop when I've completely run out of either ramen noodles or vodka. I've had a sneaking suspicion since the day I found pure vanilla extract that surely I didn't buy for myself, that a blonde haired baker was spending a bit of time sneaking ingredients into my apartment. I didn't mind—who was I to refuse the delicious breads he made for me? A girl couldn't complain.

He notices me then, his head barley moving a fraction to peer over his shoulder, his lips curving into a small smile, the dimples on his face rippling quickly. "Enjoying the view," he teases.

I scoff, not answering but moving around his body to place a small kiss on his lips. I look at the array of baked goods he's already made, each on a cooling rack that I—once again—didn't know I even had. I notice he made all my favorites—cheese buns, apple cinnamon crisps, and those scones filled with chocolate that I inhale by the pound.

"Is this all for us," I ask.

"No. I do need to take some into the bakery but I didn't really want to leave until you'd eaten." To make sure I eat. Peeta is always telling me I'm too skinny. Snow is telling me the opposite.

"Really, you shouldn't have," I say though I'm happy he did. I'll take some over to Johannas later; leave them on her porch or something. I might also drop by Haymitches. It seems one of us is going to have to make the peace offering and I suppose it's going to have to be me.

He works in silence then, mixing and stirring and replacing pans in the oven when the timer rings. His movements are so natural. I take a seat at the kitchen table, playing with a strand of my hair as I wait for him to be finished or pay attention to me again.

I feel an overwhelming amount of stress as I sit there. The pain in my back has nowhere near disappeared and as I sit in the uncomfortable wooden chairs I purchased at Wal-Mart, I want to moan out in desperation and pain.

About two years ago I got in a car accident on the way to a job, tearing a few muscles in my back on impact. I've heard endlessly how extraordinary it is that I didn't break anything in my spine, paralyze myself from the waist down or worst. It took me almost six months and weeks of physical therapy to get everything back to normal. In fact, physical therapy was where I met Peeta who was also working on repairing a shoulder injury. That was the best thing that ever happened to me along with repairing my back, I guess.

The kick or hit or whatever the hell I took yesterday really did damage to whatever progress I was making.

Peetas eyes shift over to me warily ever so often. He tries to be subtle but nothing about Peeta Mellark is subtle. "Are you okay," he whispers after his eyes meet mine in a tense moment.

"Yeah. It's just my back. You know, it happens," I mumble, my eyes falling to the table.

"Maybe you need some ice," he suggests.

"Yeah, maybe."

He grabs a Ziplock bag from its compartment, making a makeshift icepack from the ice in the freezer. I reach my hand out but he grabs onto me, pulling me to my feet in one swift motion. I yelp, surprised by the sudden motion but his hand falls softly onto my back, steadying me.

With his free hand he pulls the night shirt over my head. I squirm uncomfortably feeling my body come in contact with the cold air in my apartment. "Peeta," I whisper, covering my bare chest from his view but he's not looking.

"I'm not trying to have sex with you," he says. "Unless that is what you also want than I am more than willing to take part in-"

"Shut up," I mumble though it comes out less than convincing.

The icepack comes in contact with my bare skin then, causing an array of goose bumps to form on my skin. Though it's uncomfortably cold on my back and there is a slight burn, I can't help but close my eyes and relinquish in the feeling of the ache in my back slowly subsiding. Peeta was right but then again when is he wrong?

"What were you doing last night," he inquires, massaging the ice into my skin. "Johanna told me the two of you were out but I know you don't like to go out. I know it must have taken a lot of convincing to get you to go."

I don't say anything. "What else did Johanna tell you?" I ask, my curiosity getting the best of me. I doubt she made up an elaborate story, probably just mumbled nonsense at Peeta and then got the hell out. But still, I wanted to get the facts straight. I wanted to know about what truths she might have told him, if any. I doubt it. Johanna was a better liar than I.

"That you got upset. I don't know, something about jerks at the bar." We're silent again. "What isn't she telling me?"

Everything.

"I don't really remember last night is all." He scoffs, unconvinced. I scoff, wondering what kind of person I've become. Wondering what kind of person adapts so easily to the constant, ever present lies that are constantly spewing. I know the answer. A bad person and it seems that I am a bad person. "I'm feeling better, Peeta," I mumble then, uncomfortable by my nudity and our closeness and the tension our words hold. For the first time in a long time, I kind of wish he would scurry off to the bakery like he was so fond of doing, leaving me to my own devices.

But it seems today Peeta has a little more fight in him, a little more spark and I'm not sure how to take it.

He doesn't fight me as I resist his touches, placing the ice pack on the counter, throwing the night shirt he'd taken off my body my way, and moving to walk back towards the kitchen to finish whatever it is he was doing. I turn my back to him, facing my drawn shutters. I'm about to throw the shirt over my body when I feel Peetas hand grip my arm firmly, much like the way I had been grabbed the other night.

Almost immediately I pull back, clutching my arms tight to my chest as I cower away from Peeta whose face mirrors my own. He retracts his hand just as quickly, moving towards the back of the room, giving me the space I obviously need. I don't know how I appear to him but my breathing is uneven, the shake in my hands undeniable. I must look like a complete wreck.

"Katniss, what's wrong with your back," he speaks slowly, apprehensively as if approaching someone dangerous. He wouldn't be wrong, I'm dangerous in a million different ways. None of which he would probably be able to guess.

"Nothing is wrong with it, why?"

He just points to the mirror, his throat bobbing in anticipation.

I look at my reflection, contorting my neck as I attempt to get a view of my back and when I do, I too almost scream from fear. My back is purple, completely purple in ways I have never seen before. My olive skin does little to hide the bruise which takes over half of my back, twisting and forming patterns. Panic wells up inside me, choking me as I try to find the correct words to say to Peeta.

When I turn to look at him he doesn't try to mask his emotions.

He looks at me like I'm wounded and I'm taken back to that place I was all those years ago after my father died. The months when I had to live with the anxious looks and sympathetic words and pity filled stares. Many days, I avoided them all together, running into the woods when the first school bell rang and not returning till well after nine at night.

But I couldn't escape now. There was nowhere to escape too.

Peeta parades around me, not trying at all to hide his anger or frustration or whatever he might be feeling. He mumbles to himself, angrily as I watch the skin on his neck turn red and slowly creep up until I'm not even sure it's Peeta I'm looking at. I say nothing, just watch with worried eyes as he moves around me. I didn't know what to say. What could I say?

"It's nothing," I decide on. Judging by the look on his face, he is not too pleased with my answer. "I bruise easily. You know that."

"Katniss, what the hell is going on," he asks after a long moment, looking around the room for some kind of help that will never come.

"I already-"

"I don't know what kind of game you and Johanna have going on, but you need to start telling me things! Because you can't come home with bruises like that on your fucking back and expect me to believe you fell or what? What bullshit excuse was I about to get?!" I've never seen Peeta this angry and in this moment I don't know whether is excites me or terrifies me. "What kind of trouble are you in, Katniss? Tell me and I can-"

"And you can what, help me?" I ask exasperated, annoyed by the tone of his voice and angered by the direction of the conversation. "I don't need you screaming at me, Peeta!"

"Well you know what I need? I need some answers. I'm tired of this whole white lies crap because I am your," he stutters, "your person and I deserve to know why the hell you're coming home with shit like this on your back!"

"I already told you I don't remember what happened," I lie. I'm so angry with him I don't even care.

"Oh, bull-fucking shit!"

"Watch your goddamn language, Peeta!"

"Or what, Katniss?"

"You can leave!" It's an empty threat, one I use a lot during our arguments. It usually settles whatever's happening. Mostly because Peeta either loses his resolve and apologizes or he actually does leave, giving us both time to cool down. But it seems it's not working this time because as soon as I say the words, Peeta is blowing past me, running his hands rapidly through his hair as he stomps around my kitchen.

"Katniss, what is happening? That's all I'm asking. I thought we were a little more honest with each other." And then Peeta uses this tactic if my own doesn't work—the guilt trip.

"Oh, don't ask questions you don't want the answer to Peeta," I snarl, stomping around the kitchen with such force I know the neighbor downstairs will give me an earful about it.

"Who says I don't want the answer," he asks, looking down at his hands on the countertop and not at me. I'm glad in this moment I'm not under his stare because I feel the fire burn out of me, my face crumpling under the four hundred emotions I'm feeling.

"Trust me. You don't." I bring my fist down but along with it the blade of the kitchen knife sitting on the counter, slicing a clear split down my thumb. I scream then, dropping the now bloodied knife onto the counter before the real screaming begins.

Peeta stand motionless in his place by the sink, watching, shell shocked as I scream for god knows what.

Well, shit.

...

We wait in the waiting room of the local hospitals ER for nearly three hours before we get seen.

Peeta baggers the nurses about helping me, stating I'm obviously in need of immediate care the blood soaked band aid I wear around my thumb. "It's only a finger. Those are easy to replace," the receptionist says, her eyes only flickering to his for a fraction of a second before going back to the screen of her iPhone. Peeta mumbles something about talking to her bosses before taking his seat next to me, tightening his grip around my thumb.

The Wizard of Oz plays on the television in the waiting room, distracting me from Peetas cold shoulder and the pain in my hand. I'm the Tin Man. Someone who replaced every single part of their being but somehow forgot to replace their heart. Peeta is all of the characters rolled into one, I decide. Every good trait from each of them, he has—a good heart, a good conscience, a sense of adventure. And I hold the bad pieces—the cowardliness, the lack of emotion, the greediness. It seems about right.

I need twenty three stitches, we learn once we're finally seen by a doctor. Luckily I didn't hit bone and no major artery was hit so the repairing process should be easy and with the help of a few pain medications, painless.

Our doctors young, a boy who couldn't be any older than twenty-five. Probably doing his surgical residency and got stuck with the job of stitching back a crazy women's thumb. He doesn't say much, just comments every once in awhile on the cut and how lucky I am it was a clean knife or else they would have to completely wash it out which would be quite painful.

Peeta stays by my side, shooting me worried glances but still not offering up any words. He's still mad and I'm still mad and as it is now, neither one of us is apologizing until the other breaks even with one of us in the hospital.

When he leaves to take a call—one from the bakery—I'm left alone with the young doctor who seems to be more at ease without Peetas presence. "I have to ask you something," he whispers. His eyes don't leave the stitching on my hand. "It's protocol."

"Okay," I reply.

"Did your boyfriend have anything to do with this incident? If he did I can call the police and have him-"

"No. My boyfriend did not slice my thumb with a knife," I reply sarcastically, rolling my eyes at such a ridiculous question. "And I promise you, if he had, I would have stabbed him right back."

This earns a smile from him. "I'm sorry. We have to ask. You wouldn't believe the things people come in here and do."

"I understand. My mother used to be a nurse." Key word: used to be.

"It can be pretty stressful work if you don't know how to manage it," he tells me.

He works for a little longer, tugging and pulling my skin until its stitched tightly together, the black stitching unappealing. Peeta still has the phone pressed tightly to his ear outside the door of my room, pacing up and down the hallway. He catches my eye a few times but looks away.

"There," the doctor says when he's finished, my thumb enclosed in pink bandage I didn't ask for. "In a few weeks you'll have to go to your regular physician and your stitches will be taken out or if they need a little longer, they'll stay in." I nod. "And try to stay away from those kitchen knives," he jokes.

"Thank you, Doctor," I say. I grab Peetas jacket, wrapping it around my shoulders though I already have my jacket on. I decide he can suffer for the two minutes it takes for us to walk across the parking lot.

I feel the young doctors eyes on me as I retreat from the room, finding Peeta sitting in a chair just beside the exit, a coffee in his hand and a hand in his hair. He looks up at me as I come into view, standing to hold the door open for not only me but a pregnant woman tugging a toddler who is digging his feet into the ground, obviously disgruntled.

And this is why I'm never having children.

"Thank you sir," the women says, out of breath. "Say thank you, Jeffery."

Jeffery, her son, whispers an unintelligible thank you to Peeta, shoving his hands into the pockets of his snow coat and trudges ahead of his mother. "Kids can just be so much sometimes," the women says, shaking her head as she watches her son skip rocks across the pong which I'm surprised hasn't frozen over yet. I look down at her swollen stomach. Then why are you having another one?

"I understand. I love kids," Peeta says. I look up at him in surprise. He does? He's never mentioned it before but I guess the conversation hasn't come up.

"They sure are a pocket full of sunshine." I can't help but pick up on the slight sarcasm in her voice. "Jeffery here fell out of a tree some hours ago, had to come get a few stitches on his face. Quite the traumatic experience. More for me than it was for him."

I raise my thumb towards view, finally pulling her attention towards me and off of Peetas face. "Me too," I say. Jeffery walks up then, speaking loudly to his mother about how the rocks won't skip on the ice. I notice then the black stitching on his eyebrow, similar to the one I have on my thumb. I decide to like this boy. Finally a child in the city who enjoys climbing trees more than he enjoys sitting in on his father's business meetings. Jeffery is the first one I've met. "You know, I broke my foot once falling out of a tree," I tell him.

He looks up at me, green eyes looking up at me with awe. "That's awesome," he says, jumping up and down in excitement, looking towards his mother with a big smile on his face. "Isn't that awesome, mom? Did you get a cast? What color was it? Did you have all your friends sign it? My friend, Adam, broke his arm last year and we all got to sign it but none of us in first grade really knew how to write so we just kind of drew pictures on it and when he got it off, he framed it and it's in a little glass case in his room, right mom? Anyway, it's the-"

"Jeffery please," his mother scolds. She raises her eyebrows much like my mother used to do. A silent warning to stop whatever you're doing. "You're probably boring this poor lady."

I shake my head. "You're not boring me." I look up at his mother who looks at me with a weary smile and Peeta who watches me with just one eyebrow raised—a sign of confusion and not scolding. "I got a green cast."

"Green is my favorite color," he admits.

"Mine too."

Jefferys mother pulls his arm then, getting his attention back towards her and away from me. "We should go, honey. It's getting cold."

We bid goodbye to Jeffery and his pregnant mother, watching as he trails off into the distance and into his mother's green suburban. I wonder if that is the life I'm destined for; one of green mini vans and toddlers who speak too much. I shrug. That life seems a hell of a lot easier than the one I have now.

"Do you like kids," Peeta asks me, his fingers winding through mine. A cease fire—works for me.

"Yes," I answer honestly. "But I don't want them."

If he has any opinions on this he says nothing. We just walk silently to the car, not speaking the entire ride home. We go to his home tonight. His large apartment which I'm sure he wishes was a house.

"I'm taking the day off from the bakery. I think you need me today," he whispers once we're parked in his assigned parking space.

"It's just my thumb. I'm not handicapped."

"I never said you were. Is it so bad that maybe I just want to be around you today." I know better than to believe this is the case. He wants to watch me all day. He wants to make sure I don't run off anywhere.

His apartment is warm and smells of the warm vanilla sugar candles I got him for Christmas last year—a last minute gift being I forgot it was even Christmas. It's tidy, looking nothing like my own. It looks lived in, pictures of Peetas brothers and parents and nieces on the walls. There's one of him and Finnick from college that I've always loved because of the carefree expression he wears on his face that I rarely see anymore. There's even one of me, a Polaroid I hadn't known he was taking. I argued about putting it up but he gave me no other option, putting in a frame and placing it on his wall, right next to a photo of him and his mother. My eyes always find it in the wall.

"Are you hungry," he asks. "The doctor says you should eat with your medicine."

"I know but I'm not hungry and I'm not in that much pain so I'll just pass on the medicine for now," I tell him, moving to sit on my usual spot on the counter. Peeta always hates when I do this but he doesn't say anything.

"What else did the doctor say?" His voice picks up at the end, unable to hide whatever jealousy he was trying to disguise.

"Why did you say it like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like you were jealous," I say, my lips turning up into a smirk.

"Oh c'mon, Katniss. Don't pretend like you didn't see the way he was looking at you." I hadn't noticed.

"He was just doing his job, Peeta. He has to make people feel comfortable."

"Well he was making other people feel very uncomfortable, I'll tell you that."

He turns his back to me, busying himself in the two dishes that go unwashed in his sink. I sneak up behind him, wrapping my arms tightly around his middle as I inhale. He stiffens as I come in contact but after a while, he sinks in to the touch, turning in my arms to rest his head atop my head.

This is what apologizing is for Peeta and I. In our moments of weakness, we'll just wrap up in each other's arms. No words' being said but everything is mended for the time being. I could live and die happily in Peetas arms.

"I'm tired. I think I want to lay down," I tell him, placing kisses just above his collarbone. He shivers.

"Well you know where the bedroom is," he smirks, meeting my lips. At this angle I know his neck will be in pain tomorrow morning, no doubt something that's going to be the source of weeks of teasing. But it doesn't matter. This is perfect. It works for the both of us.

Peeta lifts my body onto the island in his kitchen, his hands moving to touch the exposed skin on my sides, leaving fire in the places his fingertips touch. Our lips haven't stopped their battle for dominance and when his tongue begs for entrance I let it.

I don't know how we end up in the bedroom, but we do. Peetas room is bigger then mine so maneuvering is much easier. I would prefer being here more but Peeta insists my apartment is better though his is twice the size. Nevertheless, it doesn't matter because we always end up the same way.

"Off," I growl, moving my hands to the edge of Peetas shirt which is, for some reason, still on his body. In minutes I'm rewarded with the smooth expanse of Peetas bare chest. He spends most of his mornings in the gym and it pays off. Though I hate having him leave me earlier than needed in the morning, there is nothing better than the strong Peeta I get now.

My shirt is removed moments later some time between Peetas hands in my shorts and my lips on his neck. He's careful to avoid my back but now I'm feeling much better. Maybe sexual healing was all I really needed.

"Peeta, I need you," I moan when his fingers touch my most sensitive areas, moving against them as they make their way inside of me. He doesn't stop his assault though, waiting until I'm almost at the brink. He removes his fingers then, bringing them to my mouth so I can lick them clean. I do as he says, tasting myself. He pulls them away and does the same. When we kiss again, I taste myself on him. I'm not to fond of it but nothing turns Peeta on more. It's a small price to pay.

"Are you sure?" He asks, kissing my neck. By the way his shorts tent, I don't think he could handle me not being sure. "If you're not feeling well then-"

"It's fine. I'm fine," I mumble, flipping him over until he's lying on his back. He looks up at me with hooded eyes, the blue in his irises' much darker than I'd ever seen them. "Are you okay?"

"More than fine," he tells me. He moans when I run my fist over his member once, twice, three times before releasing him. Taking him into my hand and positioning him at my entrance. I wait until he begs because I love it when he does so. It's so unlike Peeta, so unlike the powerful Peeta I get. "Katniss, please," he begs. "I need to be inside of you, Katniss. Please."

I listen to him then, sitting down on his length. We both moan in unison.

I could live like this forever. Forever and ever and ever until the sun burned out for all I know.

I move on top of him. Not fast, but not slow. The perfect rhythm because I was already at a high, I knew it wouldn't need much coaxing.

Peetas fingers find my bundle of nerves, moving in slow circles and within seconds thats it. I'm done. "Fuck Peeta, oh my," I moan, moving to rest my body on his. He continues moving, not relying on me too do any of the work. There is no way I can.

A few minutes later he follows me, chanting my name, as he does, resting his face in my chest. He kisses one of my breasts, leaving a mark on the underside that no one would see. No one but me and Peeta. "You're mine," he whispers once he finishes his assault, out of breath and panting. "Katniss, you're mine."

I run my fingers through his hair, scratching his scalp and kissing his flushed cheeks. "I know, Peeta." Because I do know. I'm his in so many ways but not in so many other ways.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

Peeta falls asleep moments later, the weight of the day exhausting him. His body slags on top of mine, one arm over my exposed middle section and the other holding on tightly to my thigh. The position is slightly uncomfortable, taking the breath out of me as he lays here like this but I couldn't wake him, not when he is sleeping so soundly.

The only way he's able to sleep is if I'm awake. We never find sleep together because he wakes so often, worrying about me, about the nightmares I'm surely experiencing. I should go home, leave the bed after we've finished so he can relax but sleeping alone is something I haven't done in awhile and I find it hard to leave Peeta alone. He's admitted to me on a few instances that he doesn't sleep well when I'm away. He also doesn't sleep well when I'm with him so I suppose he never sleeps.

Oh Peeta. My sweet, truth-worthy Peeta. Why couldn't the world have more people like him? Maybe then we would be able to avoid wars and all the nonsense. The world would be a better place, I'm sure of it. But life was to hard and Peeta was a rare exception. Too many people didn't have what he had growing up-a family, brothers, a support system, a stable home. Too many people were like me which meant the world was doomed from the start to be a hostile, loveless place. But he was a beacon of light, one at the end of the tunnel who could push me through when I felt to tired to walk along anymore.

I sound like a romance novel and I understand that. But I also understand why people feel this way.

Those men I work for will never get this love and in that way, I feel sorry for them just as I'm sure they feel sorry for me. Their all married but it is obvious they never found their Peeta. They married women whom were beautiful when they were young or had money or they thought they loved. But time moves on as do feelings and the men surely felt the pressure of it. So they used their money to buy us. Us women who didn't know how to make an honest living for ourselves in the real world and spent the expanse of our days trying to seduce men who should have better things to do.

I tried not to judge them, I really did because I know they could do the same to me. I don't know what's wrong in their marriages or lives or whatever hole my body is filling for them for a few moments. I don't ever ask because I don't care but neither do they.

I left my phone in the pocket of my jacket-my work phone which usually rings in the middle of the night with duties I must attend to. It hasn't rung, not today and maybe today will be a hollow day as we so commonly call it at the agency. A day when not a lot is asked of you. A day when you can truly be normal without having to use the few vacation hours Snow gives you.

I haven't used my vacation hours, not in the years I've worked for him. There has been no reason too. I've never left town for any reason, never needed an honest reason to take off or deny a job. I needed the money. I always needed the money.

Looking over at Peeta who is now drooling, I know he would take care of me if I let him. If I allowed myself for a moment to be taken care of by anybody that is. But that was the thing. As good of a guy as Peeta was, letting him take care of me made me my mother, at least as far as I was concerned. Nothing is guaranteed, especially life. What if he was to slip from my fingers the way my father was. Would I become my mother? Would I become the drug addicted women with no work, no money, and no house? In a few ways I would not be my mother because I would be a mother to no one. I wouldn't bring children in to this world, what a cruel thing to do.

I add that to my list of reasons I should leave Peeta. Leave him so he still has time to find a better life. I saw the way he looked at the women the other day, the one with the son. I never noticed it but Peeta has always been drawn to kids, buying them ice cream in the park, pushing them on the swings if they ask, giving away dozens and dozens of cookies to children on the street just because. He loves them, wants some of his own to raise and love and cherish. But he won't get them with me because I wouldn't be in the position to be anyones mother. I am to damaged, to broken. Life had chewed me up and spit me out and I know better than to bring a child here so it could do the same thing. I would tell Peeta this. Perhaps when I said it yesterday, he had thought it was the result of whatever medicine the young doctor had given me. He thought I was delirious from the loss of blood or that maybe, I would change my mind years from now if it came to that.

But I would never change my mind, that was something I was sure of. He would take it or leave it. Love me for who I am not for who I am not. I would live by the lyrics to a cliche song because in this moment, they made perfect sense.

Peeta stirs next to me, the arm around my waist growing tighter. He's awake now. The snoring has stopped and his breathing has picked up, his hot breath washing over my stomach where his head lies. I toy with his hair, pulling and combing through the curls until he opens his eyes, blue meeting grey. "Hi," he mumbles, using his tongue to lick his chapped lips. The hand on my thigh gives one last squeeze before moving to settle around me. He now enveloped me in a hug, one that was much more inviting than the previous ones we had shared today.

"Did you enjoy your day off, Mr. Mellark?" I joke. Peeta so rarely took time off from the bakery. The people he had working could easily manage everything that needed to be done but nevertheless, Peeta wished to see it all, make sure it was all done right. Maybe that was the key to his success. Never letting anyone else do. Just doing it yourself.

"It was eventful in the least," he whispers. "Much more exciting than another day in the bakery. I will tell you that."

"Glad to hear I'm more exciting than pastries," I laugh.

"Oh there is no comparison." He closes his eyes again, his fingers making soft circles on my bare back. He says nothing more about the bruises and neither do I. One day soon the conversation will have to come, but it won't be today. "So..." he begins, sitting up so I'm able to look him in the eyes.

"So?" I question.

"Do you remember a few weeks ago how I mentioned to you that, if you wanted, you could come home with me for Christmas?" Of course I had remembered. I'd spent nearly every day of the last two weeks since he said this thinking about it. I had thought he was joking or maybe even giving me a pity invitation but it seemed he wasn't. It seemed he was serious and suddenly, this room is much to small for the two of us. I nod, not trusting my voice in this moment. "The offers still on the table if you want."

"I don't think I'd be able to afford a plane ticket. At least not right now," I tell him honestly. Airfare was already expensive as is but during the Christmas holidays, getting a good deal was nearly impossible. I would be paying twice as much for a one way ticket then I would be for four any other week.

"It would be no problem to pay for you, Katniss. It could be my Christmas gift," he offers. It wouldn't be a problem for him. In fact, a small piece of my mind feels he's bringing this up now because, for some weird reason, he's already bought it. If I say no, he'll just take a friend, surprise one of his workers with a trip home or something extravagant. Something only Peeta would be nice enough to do.

Truthfully, I want to go. I wanted to be with Peeta for a week, away from everything that was weighing on me. I wanted to meet his family and sit by the fire with them as they opened up the array of gifts they'd purchased for each other. I wanted, for a moment, to feel like a normal girl, spending time with family on Christmas versus being hauled up alone. But it isn't my family, it's his. And having him pay for my ticket would go on the long list of things I owed him. Of course, this list was imaginary. I didn't really owe him a thing but in my mind, the list was tallying up.

"I don't know, Peeta. I don't want to intrude." That is also not a lie. From what I've heard about his mother, she can be quite the character and the last thing I want to do is intrude on whatever family gathering she has planned.

"You won't be intruding on a thing," he insists, his face turning red under my stare. When he starts pulling at his hair, I know he's done something. "I've actually already mentioned you were coming."

I shut my eyes, taking a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm myself. The last thing I wanted was another fight. At least not today. "Finnick and Annie are coming down too! I promise you. It will be fun and not in the least bit weird or however you're feeling! I promise, Katniss. I just really want you there. My brothers are starting to think I made you up."

"Oh, so I'm going to be your trophy wife, huh?" I choke on the word wife but I can't think of a better way to say it. I get paraded around all the time at work, there at these events and parties to be nothing but a pretty face to look at. I didn't wish for that now and I didn't want Peeta too look at me that way.

"No, Katniss," he says, exasperated. "That is not what I meant. I would just really like you to be there. It will be a lot more fun if I have you with me this year." He kisses my cheek lovingly, using his nimble fingers to braid my hair. He works through a few knots while I sit there, weighing my options heavily. "You could meet my mom and my dad, and my brothers and my nieces," he whispers. "They would love to meet you. Their so tired of hearing about the mysterious Katniss who never shows up."

"You talk about me to your family," I acknowledged, not pulling away as his lips find my shoulder.

"All the time," he agrees. "You, Katniss Everdeen, are my favorite thing to talk about."

If only he knew. "I'll go with you," I say before I can trick myself out of it, the words falling from my mouth just as he begins to suck on the skin below my ear. I move away, turning to face him, judging his reaction. His smiles grows bigger than I've ever seen it and I don't know how I could have said no to this man for so long.

"I'll buy your ticket in the morning," he promises.

"I can buy it Peeta," I tell him, blushing as he studies my face. I could buy it. It would make next month a bit of a stretch for me but if I needed too, I could buy the ticket.

"I've already told you I would buy it. It's your gift."

"It's a very expensive gift."

"Only the best things for my girl."

My girl? Yes, I suppose that worked for me.

"Are we dating?" He asks then, his hands tangling in my hair, knotting and unknotting. I don't answer mostly because I don't know how. I've been a lot of things in my short twenty-four years of life but someones girlfriend wasn't one of those things. He senses my hesitation and rephrases the question, still toying endlessly with my hair. "Are you seeing someone else?"

"No," I answer without a moment hesitation. I suppose I was in more ways than one but seeing someone in terms of outside of work, no. Just Peeta. It seemed, that at least in my mind, it would always be just Peeta. He would run one day from my past once it caught up with the two of us. I would let him leave when that day came, not because I didn't love him but because I did. I would die alone, just like Haymitch. Die alone in my apartment with nothing but a kitten and a bottle of Vodka reminiscing on what could've been. But for now, Peeta doesn't need to know a thing. Just that I'm not seeing anyone else. That for right now, it's the two of us.

"I'm not either," he whispers. His body relaxes, his fingers stopping messing with my hair. He's content for now. So am I.

"I don't want anyone else," I admit.

"Me either."

...

Johanna isn't to happy with my decision to go home with Peeta for Christmas but when I present her with all the baked goods he had left in my kitchen, she forgets her argument entirely. "Snow won't be very happy," she says between bites, bits of cheese bun flying onto my dining room table. No. He won't be but I've got enough time saved up. And hell, if he fired me, would that really be such a bad thing?

"We don't get any work during Christmas, he's paying us to do nothing." It's true. The men who hire us decide to play house with their wives and children during the holidays so we spend most of the time hauled up in our apartments, phone in hand, anxiously waiting for something to come along. They don't. "I guess I just won't get paid for the two weeks then."

"Two weeks?" Johanna exclaims, her eyes bulging from her head. "Your spending two week with Blondie and his family?" I nod my head. We would be spending a week in Virginia with his family, then a few days with Annies family in a town nearby for the New Year holidays. I really didn't like the idea of intruding on the Crestas holiday but once again, Peeta told me it would be fine. He'd even gone as far as to have Annie call me herself when I'd left the apartment. It was impossible to say no to that girl, I'll tell you that. "Wow. Better hope he doesn't ask mom for that family ring while you're there."

It's a joke but it unsettles my stomach. I'd never thought about it. It could be a ploy to propose but Peeta wasn't very sneaky and wasn't a good liar. I would've gotten a hunch about it by now, I'm sure of it.

"What am I supposed to do for two weeks," she groans, resting her head on the table. I laugh, moving a chair beside her. I throw my arms around her, hugging her tight though she doesn't return the sign of affection. I hadn't expected her too. "Oh god, what's happening?"

"You could hang out with Haymitch, drink some rum, party with his cats," I advise. He would be home, I was sure of it. Unless he decided to keep the store open on Christmas which might be smart for business. All the lonely ones in the city will flock there, drown their sorrows in his over priced liquor and maybe stay in his company for awhile.

"Is that the life we're destined for? One where we spend our holidays in a liquor store with our cats?" I nod. "Well I don't know about you but I could do away with the cat. I've never been much of a cat person and that thing Haymitch has almost doesn't even fall under the correct category." I laugh, pulling away finally and ruffling Johannas dark hair.

"You'll be fine without me," I assure her. And she will be. Johanna was much more outgoing than I was, much prettier, smarter; a million things I wasn't. She had no problem handling her own while I needed her for warmth and comfort and help in social places. If anyone needed anyone, I needed her. "I have to go down to Snows tonight." I emailed in my requested time off. It was just time to speak with him now, get everything squared away so I wasn't in hot water when I came home.

"I guess I'm going with you?" I nod my head. Of course she was. I couldn't go alone. "I'll be there."

...

Snows office is in the center of downtown, amongst everything. They rent out the top office of some cooperation building, say it's something about management. No one believes that. Everyone knows by the array of beautiful girls and wealthy men what is going on. No one bothers to rat Snow out, even the security guards who watch over the building. It's no use. No one wants to be on Snows bad side.

I smile at the security guard working, Thom. He's a nice man, forty years old or so. He has a family, a beautiful wife with three kids who all play soccer on Sunday mornings or so he tells me. He keeps me company on nights when Johanna isn't around and I have to stay late. He's nice enough and I know he won't try anything. He's nice to me just for the sake of being a good person and I appreciate that. Someone genuinely nice is hard to come by.

"Hey, Katniss!" He calls after me, letting me into the building with a click of his button.

"Hey, Thom. How's Katie? Did she get over that stomach flu?" I ask, stopping just for a moment. His youngest had been sick. I had even gone out of my way to call my mother, ask for home remedies that wouldn't cost to much but would help the sickly little girl. Thom had been worried and it was the least I could do for him. I prided myself in being a good person, at least sometimes.

"Much better! Whatever momma Everdeen had provided really hit the spot. She was over it in a matter of hours. Magic almost," he tells me, smiling at me. He hands Johanna and I a visitors pass so no one will question us in the elevators. "You'll have to come watch the girls play soccer some time. They would really like too see you again."

"Sometime soon, Thom. I promise."

"She's leaving for two weeks," Johanna pipes up, winking to Thom who looks surprised.

"You're going home for Christmas?" He questions, taking care of the couple behind us.

"No. She's going home with Peeta." I want to crawl in a hole and die, but instead I just send an elbow into Johannas side. She doesn't flinch, just laughs and shakes her head as if she's still having a hard time believing it. Honestly, I'm having a hard time believing it.

"Wow, big step Katniss." It was. I didn't need to be constantly reminded of it. "Well you have a good holiday."

I wish him the same, shaking off the worried looks he shoots my way as we squeeze into the already tightly packed elevator. He thinks I'm crazy but so far that was a common theme among all the people I've told. It was never supposed to get like this. Peeta and I were never supposed to be anything serious but it seems we were taking a turn down that road. It excited me in ways I couldn't explain and terrified me in others.

Snows floor is bustling when the elevator pings. Girls, mostly topless, stroll around the floor, laughing giddily at whatever they find funny. Mostly, twenty year olds. Ones who aren't even old enough to drink but are seduced by the life Snow is providing. I was one of them once. Johanna was one of them once. We look at them with sad eyes, not out of envy because lord knows they will feel the fall just like we did. It will come soon, within a matter of months probably. They'll get that one bad call or the man who doesn't find them attractive. They'll be turned off to the lifestyle but unable to do anything about it because if they quit, their forfeiting the glorious life laid in front of them. That is something no girl working for Snow wanted to do. Even me.

I stride past Effie, Snows assistant, waving to her as she mumbles into the phone. Johanna does the same. We've been here so long rules that apply to the young girls don't apply to us. We're veterans. We've made it this long.

Looking around at all the fresh faces, I know my time is coming when I won't get anymore jobs. Twenty-four isn't old but when their we're eighteen year olds at your door, it seemed pointless to even try. I was longing for the day when Snow cut me from his leash. Maybe then I could find a real job. Do something more for myself. But then where would the money come from? Where would I live? The apartment would be taken from me immediately. What would I tell my mother and Prim when I could not send money anymore?

I try not think about it. I would find something to do before then.

Snow is an old man, one with deep white beard that matches the hair atop his head. He always smells of roses, dresses in the nicest suits you've ever seen. His eyes are dark and have taken on an unnatural color in his old age, almost orange if you look close enough. His skin is still tight, most likely from all the plastic surgery he indulges in. He doesn't give a homely appearance, not like anyones grandfather. He was the house at the end of the street you ran past as children.

I watch him through the glass door for a moment, watching as he paces on the phone. He doesn't look happy. I should turn and leave now. Come back when maybe, he is in a better mood. But as I turn to leave, I realize it's to late. I've been seen and he beckons for me, a slow smile rising on his face. I gulp.

"Hello, Katniss," he says. He appears to be drunk. Drunk on what, I don't know. But I keep a good distance for safe measure.

"Snow, how are you today?" My tone is formal, tight.

"I've never been better. Now what can I do for you today? I didn't call you in, did I?" I shake my head. "In old age, it's impossible to really tell anymore, isn't it?" I try to laugh but I sound more as if I'm choking which is exactly how I feel.

My stomach churns uncomfortably and I'm glad I didn't eat breakfast or there is no doubt it would be on the carpet. I find I'm unable to look into his orange eyes. Not today, not ever. "I have taken two weeks off for the Holidays and I just wanted to let you know in person I will not be near my phone for that time."

He says nothing, watching me carefully for a few minutes. "How nice. Family vacation, I'm assuming?"

I nod. "You could say that."

"Well, tell your mother and Primrose I say hello."

My heart stops, vomit certainly threatening to spill over in a few seconds time. Primrose? How did he know of Prim? My mother I wouldn't be surprised about. Surely I must have mentioned her once or twice, maybe to Effie but never Prim. Not here. I wouldn't dare say her name here. He seems to be sensing my panic by the way his slow smile takes over his entire face.

"Of course," I say hoarsely. It's better he believes I'm going with my mother and Prim. Dating was allowed, of course, if that's what we chose to do in our free time but for some reason, the thought of Snow knowing about Peeta put my stomach in a knot. There was something about Snows demeanor that unnerved me but I couldn't tell you what.

He catches my hand just as a turn to leave, his rough hands nothing like Peetas and I flinch away immediately. "I hear you had quiet a night the other night with Mr. Vandross. I must say Ms. Everdeen, he was not very happy with you." Of course Mr. Vandross had called. I'm sure he conveniently left out how the night ended, probably getting Johanna into just as much trouble as I was to be in. But he didn't seem angry? "I'm near at my wits end with you and your attitude Ms. Everdeen."

This angers me. Me and my attitude? "I apologize. Mr. Vandross was not very charming either. He has quite the anger issues," I tell him, not bothering to keep the scowl off of my face. Snow just smiles.

"I thought you could handle it," he says.

Did he know Mr. Vandross was this way? Did he know what kind of person he was and sent me there anyway? Of course he did. Why wouldn't he? I was making money for him, that was all. Nothing more. He didn't care about my honest well being. "Don't you screen these men?"

"For diseases, yes. Their anger problems are not my issue to deal with."

I choke back all the vile words threatening to spill from me, looking over my back towards Johanna who is standing on the other side of the glass wall, looking uneasy. She shoots Snow a dirty look, me one filled with question. "I suppose it is," I tell Snow then, grabbing ahold of my purse as I move towards the door.

When I look back at him, he is already given his attention to whatever is on his computer screen, drinking from a cup filled with god-knows-what. His lips are stained with red when he pulls away. Is that... Is it blood? No. Of course not. I'm losing it. That's all.

I grab Johanna by the arm as soon as I exit the room, not wanting her to make a scene, ones which she was notorious for. Once at a Christmas Party, she had gotten on stage, screaming loudly about what an asshole Snow was for a good ten minutes before someone had the sense to pull her off. She was drunk, of course and Snow actually found it funny. So no one was hurt. Everyone was safe, at least that time. But now, I wasn't looking for the attention her yelling was bound to bring. For now, I wished to disappear from this office forever.

"Put your boobs back in your shirt, Shitface!" Johanna yells, her eyes following a young girl who, is in fact, wearing a shirt that is about three sizes to small for her. I can't keep the smile off of my face, the girl managing to hurl back something snappy just in time for the elevator doors to close around us. I laugh then, tears falling from my eyes at Johannas expression. It takes her a moment but she does too, not stopping when six other people enter the elevator as well, all staring at us as they do so. Johanna shoots one sharply dressed man the finger, only putting us into hysterics.

It's a long ten minute ride down to the lobby of the building, no talking except the sounds of our laughter and a few snide comments from a women dressed in a black dress. They all disperse as soon as the elevator doors open, running away from Johanna and I as if they'll catch whatever we have. It wouldn't hurt them if they did. They all looked like they could have some fun.

Thom is gone when we pass his desk, a sign telling every one he's off to lunch. I should buy him a gift, maybe a pocket knife or a cheap watch from a department store. I didn't buy for many people and spending another $20 couldn't hurt. Not when it was for someone who would appreciate it.

Then it snaps.

"Oh shit, Johanna! What am I supposed to get Peeta for Christmas?" He's buying my ticket, spending a good $300 on my gift and something in the pit of my stomach tells me that isn't all he will be getting me.

"Another candle?" She jokes. It isn't funny because now I am in a full blown panic. I hadn't given it any thought. I'll have to take something to his mothers, a flower set or a picture frame. Something cliche that house moms will appreciate. I couldn't show up to their home, eat their nice food, sleep in their nice home, and not bring anything. What was I thinking? Maybe this is a sign. A sign I shouldn't be going. I have to call Peeta now and... "I see your mind working, Brainless. Take a breath. I'm sure whatever you get him will be fine."

Of course it will. Peeta will love it because he's to nice to say anything different but I can almost imagine the awkward looks his brothers give us when, low and behold, I show up with nothing for the boy who gives me everything. "Oh my god, what do I do?"

"When do you leave? We have time." The thing was, we didn't. It was already the 20th. We were leaving for Virginia in two days and I'm sure those two days would be spent packing for the trip I wasn't expecting to go on. Do I even have clothes appropriate for whatever it is we do there? I have nothing nice except the clothes that Snow provides for me and the thought of bringing them with me makes me sick.

"I... I..." I've been standing in the middle of the sidewalk for some time now, being pushed around as people walk here and there, glaring at me as they do so. A few people yell at me but it doesn't bother me. Not anymore like it used to in my first few months of living here.

"What did you get Prim?" Johanna asks.

"A dress," I say. I had. A nice one, the shade of green that reminds me of the woods. She'll love it, I'm sure. "I got my mother a wallet." A wallet for money I'm sure she doesn't have. "Then some hard cash because I didn't know what else to do." Could I give Peeta money? Pay him back for the ticket? That seemed pointless. Making him pay for the ticket would be a big waste of time.

"What about a watch?" Johanna suggests, pulling me into a large department store that is bustling with Christmas cheer. In fact, Santa greets us as we walk in.

"Peeta doesn't wear watches." He doesn't. It's too much work to try and handle at the bakery and he says he never got in the habit of wearing one. Cologne? I could buy him cologne but for some reason that seems cliche. It seems like a last minute gift which, I suppose, it was.

"How about you just put a bow on your ass and wait in the bed naked? I'm sure he would be more than excited about that." An elderly women looks our way, sending us death glares as she moves along with her granddaughter. I send her an apologetic smile.

"I'm not doing that at his parents house, Johanna. What if he doesn't open the door and his dad walks in?" Even the thought makes me want to crawl under a rock and die. Johanna laughs though.

"That would be fucking awesome. I'm sure you and Peeta is the most action that house will have seen in years. I mean, how old are his parents? Sixty? I'm sure that's not even an option anymore!" If I thought I'd wanted to die before, I really do now.

"You've lost your mind!" I growl, grabbing ahold of Johannas arm to reign her in like a small child.

"Who's lost their mind?" The voice doesn't belong to Johanna and when I turn on my heel, I'm face to face with non other than Finnick Odiar. What perfect timing.

He's just as handsome as I remember him, his dusty brown hair longer but his eyes still unbelievably green. He envelops me in a hug before I have a moment to react, laughing into my ear as my arms wrap around his middle. "I hear you're joining us for Christmas now, Kitty Kat!"

"Peeta gave me no choice," I laugh. Johanna coughs beside me, her eyes not leaving Finnicks as she extends her hand, acting completely opposite of her normal, crass self. "Oh. Finnick this my friend Johanna. Johanna, this is Finnick." They shake hands, Finnick looking uneasy and Johanna looking stunned into silence.

"We're actually here looking for a gift for lover boy," Johanna admits.

"A little late, huh?" Finnick jokes, sending me a elbow to the side.

"I could say the same about you." I say, my eyes glancing down to the pink box in his hand which I know is not for him. The name Annie on the top of the box also gives it away.

Finnick holds his hands up in mock defense. "You got me! Just don't tell Annie. As far as she knows, I've had this for weeks." I smile.

"I'll keep your secret if you keep mine!" I say.

"What are you getting him?" He asks, his eyes looking down to my empty hands.

"I haven't decided."

"I told her she should just put a bow on her ass," Johanna pipes up. I shake my head.

Finnick laughs. "You should just do that. Peeta boy would love that one," he winks.

"Maybe for his birthday!" I clap, sending Johanna a death glare. She just laughs, shrugging her shoulders. "I want to get something he'll actually be able to enjoy."

Finnick smiles, a glint in his eye. "I know just the thing."

* * *

let me know how it was my friends


End file.
